


The Captain

by nakamook



Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Just Sex, M/M, Orgasm Control, Pirates, but the plot starts up later, its basically, not fluffy pirates, pirates who kill people, well right now theyre just Banging It Out, who needs to sleep when you can write smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-10-16 20:06:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10578564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakamook/pseuds/nakamook
Summary: A sailor finds himself falling hard for the pirate captain that captures him. But he has a plan, and this does not fit into it. Will he be able to set aside his strange desires to get to where he needs to go?When you're the captain of a pirate ship, you're used to things going your way. If they don't, you can usually make them. But when a man shows up at your doorstep, tied, and begs you for a kiss... well, that just seems too easy. Doesn't it?





	1. The Pirate King

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this kinda as a dare fueled with caffeine as something I could finish - quickly had 20 pages with no end in sight. oops. Been posting it over on literotica, but uh there increasingly more plot and less sex so we'll give this a try. It's not part of any fandom, so we'll see if anyone even reads this? We'll give it a try, I guess.

The ship getting taken by pirates was kind of fucking up my plan.

I'd had a plan. Not a good one, but one that had been working for me. Hit a guard over the head. Check. Make my escape. Check. Pick the locks on the shackles they had on me, ditch the metal constraints in the river, and get down to town. Check, check and check. 

Get on a ship, use a fake name. Get hired as a sailor; I'm a big guy and they can always use more men. Get a job. Get a wage. Get out of the city. All of that, all a big check. Now the plan had been for me to get off the ship at the next port. To take the money and run, start again somewhere new. Somewhere where they didn't know my name. 

Not incredibly original, I know. But having a plan was important when things get tough. Having a purpose is sometimes the only thing that gets you through. And this plan was important. It was going to get me back to where I belong. It was going to let me kill the man who'd taken my life from me in the first place.

So yeah, the pirates were throwing a bit of wrench into things. 

They'd pegged us for the merchant ship that we were, taken us in less than twenty minutes. It's important to be able to recognize skill when you see it, and I saw it in them. I watched them, mechanically unloading our cargo, our captain wringing his hands. I could have fought to save the cargo, I guess. I could have helped the captain, helped his Majesty. But neither of them had ever been much of a help to me. Besides, I wasn't interested in what they were doing with the merchandise; I wanted to know what they would do with _us_.

We waited around, hands bound, some of us nervous and all of us alert. I watched the pirate crew move between our ships. We hadn't fired a volley, hadn't taken any of their crew. And, if I still knew anything about anything, and these were the southern pirates I thought they were, that should keep us safe. Around here, they were more prone to flights of mercy than the strategy of razed grounds. In the event of capture, this was supposed to translate into lighter prison sentences. 

I spat. 

Finally, the pirates sent a delegate over to explain what was going on. 

"Alright, you lot. Here's how this shakes down. We don't wanna have to hurt any of you, and we don't want any of you to hurt us. Part of not hurting you is not leaving you alone in the middle of the sea unarmed. We're not unreasonable, see, just trying to make our living. But, we can't leave you with the means to shoot us, either. See our dilemma?" 

And sure, I did, but I also saw something else. Someone else. 

He'd walked out onto the quarter deck of the ship across from us, an attractive thing in it's own right, a light little schooner that leapt through the water like it was dancing. The dip and pull of the ocean made the man hard to focus on, but once I'd seen him I wasn't going to let anything take him away from me. His red hair whipped wildly around, mirrored by his black cloak, by the sails and the ropes around him. He was an extension of the ship, and the ship an extension of the sea. In the midst of these southerners, surrounded by people I didn't spare a second glance, he demanded my attention. He looked like a pirate. He looked like a commander. A commander of men, a commander of fleets. Fuck, he looked like he could command the ocean and she would obey. 

He looked over at me, and for a moment our eyes met. 

Then the rolling of the sea took him from me. When the deck bobbed back into sight, he was gone. I searched about frantically trying to track him down, but it was futile, the deck empty of commanders and filled with nobodies. I thought about letting it pass, whatever had just occurred. It had been a strange moment, something so intoxicating, so demanding even at such a distance. What a feeling he had given me, in just that glimpse. I wanted it back. I never wanted to feel it again. 

I shook my head at myself. Whatever was happening, it didn't fit into my plan. I had a solid chance at making it to my destination, if I just stuck to what I had set out to do. A good shot at making it out of this alive, and then making it on to my real goal. 

Then again, since we'd been attacked we'd most likely be returning to port. Port was not a good place for me right now, with His Majesty's men and the bounty hunters swarming. By now they most likely had the wanted posters up, too. Besides, I wasn't returning to land. I wouldn't. I needed a new plan, and I needed it fast. But instead of thinking about what was going to happen, I found myself searching for the man I had just seen. 

I scanned the ship, ignoring the man in front of me. He was asking something, but he was short and demanded nothing of me so I just looked over the top of his head. The wild red hair was nowhere to be seen. The black cloak didn't flow. Then, suddenly, blissfully, I caught a glimpse. 

Just a glimpse, that's all it took. The plan had already been fucked. I didn't have another one ready to go. So when I saw the glimpse, when I caught sight of him for that moment, it was over. I was done. The man in front of me said something again, impatient, but he wasn't enough, certainly didn't command me and I pushed past him and headed toward the other ship.

They hadn't learned yet, these men, that ropes can't keep me. They hadn't the time or the experience to know these things, and so they had tried knots instead of steel to keep me tied down. Good knots, sailors' knots, but there is no knot that can hold me, no rope that my fingers can't undo. These men might have learned to be sailors, but I had been born one. And so I left them in the dust. 

I heard them coming after me, the men, but I didn't care. I was on their boat faster than they could think to react, faster than they could even really understand what was going on. I move quickly for my size. But they caught on soon enough and I felt them pulling at my limbs, trying to stop my headlong plummet into their space. It might have worked, and I might have been escorted back to the merchant ship, but I caught a flash of black and a whip of red and bulled through the last of the men and then there he was. He turned just as I approached, my limbs dangling men, my shoulders turned to hooks for them to hang, my back even carrying one. But their extra weight was nothing, not compared to him. I stopped a few feet back, halted by his very presence. 

His hair was not red, not the way I'd thought it was. The light had lied to me, had played tricks on my mind, had danced through his thick curls and reflected colors that shouldn't exist. Even as I watched, it happened again, the sun picking up hues and pushing them to my eyes, blacks and browns and purples, indigos, royal colors, godly colors. Sunsets and nightscapes, all hidden in his curls. I wanted to watch his hair capture sunlight all day, but the kinks fell into his face, and I saw his thick eyebrows, the way they drew together and pinned frustration in place like a specimen to study, and then I saw the lines of his cheekbones soft and sharp and everything, and the sweep of his lips, his lips, his lips, frowning out at me, and staring out from all of it, controlling all this wonderful terrifying mystifying experience were his eyes, dark and deep and demanding, and I wanted him to demand of me. I wanted to be able to do everything that he asked. 

"What is this," he asked, not to me but to the men trying to hold me back. They must have said something, but all I saw were his eyes, his lips, the way his brow furrowed even more. 

"Well," he said, still not to me, but close enough that his voice rubbed against me and I wanted to press against it, just to be nearer to him, "he's here now." He looked at me then, looked me over, those eyes threatening to consume me. I wanted them to. I wanted them to light me on fire, wanted to turn to ash. At least then I couldn't feel the intensity of whatever it was I was feeling in that moment. At least then it would be over. 

"Bring him to dinner, I guess." He turned and walked away. The moment ended. Somehow I was still standing. 

"Dinner with the Captain," one of the men holding me said. "Lucky guy." 

I looked at him, wondering if I looked as shellshocked as I felt. I must have, I guess, because the man began to laugh. 

***

They tied me up for dinner. 

I was tired of being contained. I had worked hard to escape exactly this. They used rope again, just added extra knots, and maybe it was because they were sailors that they were confident or maybe because they didn't know me, but they thought they had me good. They didn't, but I wasn't going to run this time. I sat in my chair and waited for the man they called the Captain to arrive. 

My heart was racing, watching the door. What was happening to me? I'd never had a reaction like this before, not to anyone, not to anything. I'd navigated winter squalls in lifeboats. I'd killed men who wanted to kill me, and ones who didn't. I'd moved with fleets through channels as narrow as each ship was wide. I'd faced down mermaids and harpies, I'd killed a sea god and drank it's blood, I'd laughed in the face of prison guards and their whips. Hell, I'd faced down whole prison gangs. And that was on _land_. One pirate captain couldn't scare me.

Then he walked through the door, and my heart leapt into my throat. 

He'd changed from before, or at least taken off his cloak. His shirt was carelessly unlaced down his front, baring more of his dark skin than I'd expected, his chest almost in negative to his white shirt, though what was a chest to me? His pants fit well, very well, and they showed off his hips, were tight through his ass, but I'd seen people's asses before, had seen men naked, so what was his ass to me? 

I swallowed and looked down at the table. 

"Well then," he started, rolling up his sleeves, and his forearms were muscled, and scarred, and I imagined them holding me, but what were his forearms to me and I didn't need to be held by anyone and I tried to look away, I really did. He took me in, frowning. What were lips that swept to me. What were eyes that demanded. 

"You're tied."

I felt a strange thrill at the way he said that, at the way his eyes caught on my bindings. I shrugged, the best I could manage at the time. I didn't trust my voice. He looked to the men standing somewhere off to my left.

"He's big," the one said, while the other wheedled, "He took down like 12 of us earlier." 

The Captain sighed. He leaned on the table, one leg crossed over the other and frowned further. (What is a brow that furrows?) "Why did you board our ship?"

Their ship? Every ship on the ocean belonged to me. I could have told him that, could have taken myself from this chair and shown him, but instead I felt myself shrugging. His eyes followed the motion of my massive shoulders without emotion.

"You need to answer truthfully before I can let you go." 

He took me in, took as much of me in as he could see, as much as wasn't hidden by the table. I was glad there were parts hidden by the table. "Come now, answer honestly."

I shook my head. I couldn't explain. I couldn't say anything. And how do you tell someone that you boarded their ship, as he thought of it, that you came to them for them? How do you explain a pull so magnetic to someone in the center of it? 

"Fine." He threw up his hands. "Don't talk. We'll drop him off at the next port, I guess." The last part was addressed to the men behind me. He turned to leave. 

"No!" The word erupted from my mouth, as much a reaction to him leaving as a reaction to his decision. What was happening to me? No man could control me; I was the sea, I was the ocean incarnate, and no man should ever make me feel like this, should pull me physically from my seat as he left the room. He turned, and saw me pushing against my rope towards him. I watched him take it in, watched his eyes travel the parts of my body that fought to be released, caught the moment of hunger in his eyes and I sat back. I wasn't ready to deal with that, not yet. He blinked the hunger away.

"You want to stay?" He sounded completely unfazed, as if I had not just watched him visualize things I couldn't even begin to imagine. 

"Yes," I told him. 

"Why?"

There was silence.

"Give me a reason." 

I didn't have one. Or maybe I did, but I wasn't ready to say it yet, so I just stared at him with eyes that I didn't ask to beg, but that did it anyway. 

What were eyes that begged to him, of course. 

He sighed. "I can't let you stay if you don't have a reason."

"Please, sir," I said, and I saw that hunger again just for a moment, watched his body hitch in its usual smooth motions. I could use that, I thought. I wanted him to want me, found myself willing to do anything to feel his touch. I pressed up against the ropes, experimentally, carefully, controlled, and watched his eyes fall to my chest, my wrists, watched his hands tighten. "Let me stay."

He stayed that way for a moment, then looked up and to my left. "Leave us," he commanded. I heard a door open and close, and then we were alone.

My heart pounded.

"Do you know what you're doing?" he asked me. 

"No," I told him. I looked at the lines of his body, saw them move, knew how to make them move for me, wanted to make them move for me. "Yes," I amended, and finally finished with, "maybe."

"What do you want." His voice sounded almost defeated. "Did someone send you?"

I shook my head. I watched his dark curls fall into his face, wanted to brush them away. I wanted to touch his face, draw it closer to mine. I wanted to feel him close to me. I closed my eyes and tried to remember how to breathe. What was happening to me? What was this man doing?

He drew closer, and I almost lost myself. "Tell me," he commanded, his voice cool and even, "what you want." 

"You," I answered, because he'd asked, because his eyes demanded, and my body tingled with the word and I watched his eyelids flutter. 

"To kill me? To lower my guard so you can attack?" He leaned on the table next to me, just around the corner, his tight pants out of sight, his open shirt terribly visible, and I didn't ask my body to press towards him, and I don't think he asked his body to shudder watching mine. 

"I wouldn't do that." I was helpless, in front of him. He should know that, seeing me. How could he not see that?

"You couldn't, or you won't?"

"I couldn't. I don't know." 

He leaned across the table, leaned in so close I could feel his breath. I whimpered, grabbing the handles of the chair. "Tell me what you want."

"You," I told him again, and leaned forward to kiss him. 

He leaned back and thought about that. 

"Please," I said, the rawness in my voice catching us both by surprise. I could feel myself giving up control, feel it melting in the face of desire. There was no plan. There was no back-up, no way out of this. There was only him. "Just one kiss." 

"I don't kiss prisoners," he told me, eyes on every inch of me showing but my face. 

"Please." I wanted to tell him that I wasn't a prisoner, not really. I couldn't be, not a ship that was really mine. Besides, I could get out any time I wanted, that I could have left a thousand times over, but I stayed in my ropes for him, for the way he looked at me in them, the way his eyes widened, but my body was pressing against them and his eyes were doing the thing and I couldn't find the words. He walked the rest of the way over to me. I couldn't imagine him drawn by me, and yet that's how he walked, like he didn't quite have a choice. I willed him closer. 

He rounded the edge of the table, and his eyes finally traveled past my stomach, further down my waist. I watched him take in my broad hips and muscled thighs. I watched his eyes catch on the bulge in my pants, watched him see how hard I was for him, from him, and watched him swallow. 

"Please, sir," I said, and arched towards him. I watched him jerk a bit at that, saw the way his hand clenched and unclenched, his eyes all over me and his body so close. 

"One kiss," he whispered, and he touched my face and I actually gasped from it, his fingers light after the weight of wanting so badly. They traced my cheek, my jawbone, and then he lifted my chin and brought his lips to mine. 

It couldn't have lasted as long as it felt, and it couldn't have been as short as I think it was. It felt like eternity. It felt like nothing. 

It wasn't enough. 

When he lifted away, my whole body tried to lift with him, to follow his command, but the ropes held me down. He left the place where I could reach and I let my teeth scrape against his lip, let myself try to pull him down just for a moment before he was gone. I stayed there, pressed up against my restraints, and he watched, hovering just out of reach, his hand on my face. 

"You," he said, and his voice was ragged, and I almost made a noise because the sound was so perfect, must have made a noise because his fingers dug into my chin, "you can't stay here tonight, can you." 

I shook my head.

"All tied up," his words caught as his eyes traveled the length of my body, his gaze trapped by the knots on my limbs. He cleared his throat. "Who knows what could happen. Someone could try to hurt you, or you could get out, try to hurt my crew. It would be irresponsible to leave you here." 

I nodded. 

"Alright, then." His voice had returned to normal. Cool, almost bored. But his hands shook as he untied my restraints. "I'll take you to a cell. Make sure you have everything you need."

I was happy to be spending more time with him, happy that he would be escorting me. Happy for any amount of anything he would give me. But I have to say, at his words my heart sank. 

He finished untying my feet and went to move to my hands. In the motion, he suddenly found himself kneeling between my feet, hands over my lap. 

He paused, slowly looking up to meet my eyes. They were wide, seeing him there, a moment of pure panic and want. Gently, he placed a hand on my inner thigh. That single touch, the simplest of gestures, pushed all my air from my body in a rush, and I was left dizzy. I thought I saw the quickest of smiles before he removed his hand and turned his attention to freeing my arms. 

Soon, I could stand. We found, however, that the men who had tied me originally had decided the most secure method was tying the initial knot around my wrist itself, so that if I broke free of the chair, there would be rope still attached to me. We both looked down at these knots, leading out to lengths of thick twists, a leash for each wrist. We followed the lines and found the ends in the Captain's hands.

I looked up and met his demanding eyes. 

He moved away, putting space between us. Then he turned and faced me. I waited, waited to see what he would ask of me. Suddenly, decisively, he tugged on the lines, putting pressure on my wrists. It wasn't enough to pull me forward, but forward I went, listening to the lines, listening to him, and my body tingled with it, rushed with it. He pulled again, and again I stepped forward, but just a step. I wanted to run to him, wanted to kiss him, wanted to do so much more that I didn't even know how to think about, but all he was asking of me was a step and so that's all I did. 

He watched me listen to him, his lips parted, his brow creased. I watched him back and silently begged him to pull me all the way in, each step another glowing pleasure wave crashing through my body starting at my wrists and ending up in places I didn't know what to do with. 

He stopped pulling me when I was too far away, not close enough to touch. "I think," he said, almost evenly, "that we had better keep these on." He held up the lines. His hands had not stopped trembling. "For security reasons."

I nodded mutely. He pulled me in another step and I gasped. 

"Security," he repeated, and then he was off into the hallways and I was pulled behind him. 

I ached that we weren't going to be alone anymore, that we were going to be sharing space with others. He was going to take me to a cell, and we would be done, and then he would drop me off on some deserted island and I would die. 

I was in such despair that I didn't notice, at first, that we were not going down. Galleys are always down; you don't keep prisoners in the nice part of the ship. And we were headed into the seriously nice part of the ship. 

He pushed open and door. "You first." I walked in and blinked. This was no cell. 

"Easier to sleep and know you're not escaping if I lock you in with me." The Captain followed me into his quarters and locked the door behind us. I heard the lock click and felt my breath catch. 

He turned to me, slowly. There was a beat, and then he grabbed my face and we were kissing. His hand traveled down my neck, over my shirt, then it was under my shirt and I was gasping and biting and kissing him back and I wanted to touch him too, wanted to feel his skin against mine but his other hand held the two ropes, kept my hands behind my back, kept pulling. I stumbled back a step at the pressure, then another. He backed me up against the far wall, tugging at me with one hand and pushing at me with the other until my back hit the rough boards beside the bed. He stopped there for a moment, panting, looking me over. Then he smiled, kissed me again, and walked away. I tried to follow and found that he'd tied my hands to the bedpost while I wasn't paying attention. A wave of frustration mixed with pleasure washed over me as I hit the end of my tether, feeling the wash of denial that I was becoming all too familiar with. 

He watched me from the end of the bed, smiling slightly. It made me want him, made me want him even worse. I crumpled down to my knees. 

"Please, sir," I told him, my voice so low, so hoarse, "this is torture."

The smile disappeared from his face so quickly it might not have been there at all. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'll stop." He moved forward.

"No!" I quickly said. He stopped dead where he was, hand outstretched, halfway towards me. "I don't... I didn't mean..."

He sat down on the bed. His eyes were searching, always searching. "Do you want me to stop?" 

"I don't know," I told him truthfully. "I've never done anything like this before." 

He closed his eyes and nodded. "I need to remember that," he murmured, and I'm not sure that he was talking to me. "It's just so hard when you're so." He waved a hand towards me. "You know?"

I didn't know. 

He saw my confusion and came close, sat right next to me on the bed. He pushed his hands into my hair and put his mouth to my ear. "You make me want to do things to you," he whispered, and the intensity of it made me try to pull away but he had me by the hair, he held me tight, "that I haven't done with anyone in a long time. I want to do those things. I want to do those things bad." He bit my ear, and I let loose a noise that I had never made before, a mixture between a moan and a yelp and a gasp. "You make these noises, see? And these faces, and I -" 

I pushed my lips to his and let me kiss him. When he pulled me away, we were both panting. I could feel him watching me, feel his eyes take in the lines of my chin, the length of my neck, and I leaned my head back against his shoulder and gave these things to him, offered them up. I heard him suck in his breath, felt his hand tighten on my head. He turned and rested his lips on my cheek, his breath shuddering. "Oh, the things I could do to you," I heard him mutter, and it sent waves of excitement through my soul. Instead of doing anything, he pulled away. "But I can only do those things if you want to." He took a breath and said it again, gentler. "I will only do those things if you want to. Okay?"

He backed off then, gave me space, but I didn't want space. "I want you."

He frowned. "That's not really what I asked."

"Please, sir," I said, and the way his body reacted to those two words sent waves of pleasure through my very core, "I want you."

He stayed where he was, his eyes closed. Stayed that way for a good while. "Okay," he finally said. "Okay." He opened his eyes and came closer to me. "But you can say stop at any time."

"Okay," I repeated. 

"And I'm going to leave you tied up." His eyes were wide. "For security reasons."

"Okay," I said again, a little less evenly, and pretended that my body wasn't on fire. 

"Are you secure," he asked my neck, and I nodded. 

"Good. Stand up." 

I stood up. He didn't. For the second time tonight, I found myself tied with the Captain's face inches from my the most sensitive parts of my body. 

He traced the outline of the bulge with fingers that set my world ablaze. I wrapped my hands around the rope and gasped, trying to steady myself. He moved his fingers to my waistband, reaching around to find the laces. In doing so, he pressed his face up between my legs, and I closed my eyes in the face of it. 

"Open your eyes," he instructed me. I tried, and when I was finally able to look down, he was waiting there, smiling. "You doing okay?" 

I nodded, words beyond my capability. 

"Good. Then I want you to watch me." And then he carefully pulled down the waist of my pants to uncover my cock. 

He looked up to me, saw my wide eyes staring, watching as instructed, and smiled. Then he opened his mouth and took me inside of him. 

My entire body shuddered, and I had to look away, it was too much. When I finally was able to look again, he had stopped and was staring up at me. "Watch me," he told me firmly, commanded me, and I felt a second shudder threaten my body. I nodded. 

He took me again, and I gasped and gathered rope into my hands and tried not to cry out. He moved his mouth up and down, watching me watch him, seeing me react, digging his fingers into my hips in time with my gasps and hovering just over the head of my cock to hear me moan, to watch me squirm. Soon, he pulled away, moved his head up my body, biting my hipbone, then just below my ribs, making his way to standing, stroking my cock all the while.

I lunged at him as soon as he was in range, kissing him as deeply as I could. He kissed me back for a little, indulging me, but all too quickly his hand was in my hair, pulling me back. I panted, trying to figure out which way was up. 

He took one look at my face and actually laughed at me. "You need a break," he said. He untied me from the bedpost and pushed me onto the bed. "Stay," he instructed. "I'll know if you move." 

I laid as still as I could, trying to breath, trying not to think too much about what was coming. 

"I want to switch your ropes with manacles. It's more comfortable," he said, and I turned and found that he was naked, and immediately looked away before I tore a hole in myself with desire. He sat down beside me and started undoing my ropes. 

"Wait," I told him, suddenly aware of what was going on. He was leaning down to kiss my wrist, and I almost lost the thread of what I had been thinking. It was important, very important, but it was getting confused in the sensation of his mouth on the soft underside of my arm. 

Then cool metal snapped around my wrist.

"No." I sat up straight. He pulled back and let me move away. I looked down at the metal band wrapped around my arm, looked over at the pirate captain holding the key. "I don't," I started, but I didn't know how to say what I needed to. "This isn't." 

"Okay," he said softly. He put out his hand, palm up. I hesitated, knowing how easy it would be for him to snap the other side closed. Then I put my hand in his. He unlocked the manacle and put it beside the bed. "Ropes," he said. I nodded, but I eyed the manacles beside the bed. He got up and silently put them away. 

He tied me back up, careful and gentle. I didn't know hands could be so gentle. He brushed my hair from my face and looked me over. "Good?" 

I was, I found. I had to be when I was near him, when his hands were on me. I nodded and leaned forward to kiss him. He let me get close, so close, inching away and making me follow until I was at the end of where I could move. Only there, only then, did he brush his lips against mine. 

He laughed at the noises I made, then dug a hand into my hair and at the same time grabbed the shaft of my cock. I cursed, and he kissed me, one hand rhythmic and the other steady, pulling, turning me into an arching moaning creature. 

"Keep your hips down," he murmured into my cheek, his mouth on his way to my neck, nipping and nibbling. I tried, but they kept lifting, lifting into his hand. The third time I did it, he moved his hand to my hip bones and slammed them back down to the bed. 

"Keep them down," he warned me, in a voice that sent shivers all through my body. I nodded, and he spidered his hand back to my cock and when it reached it he bit my collarbone and I cried out. 

He kept moving his mouth down, pulling the back of my head with it until his arm didn't reach, until his mouth hovered centimeters from the tip of the part of me that stood, quivering, twitching, all of me waiting. I knew I could lift my hips and it would reach. I knew I could bridge the gap. 

But I knew he didn't want me to. I waited. 

"Good," he told me, and smiled up at me, and I only had a second to smile back before he dropped down and licked the length of my shaft. 

I cursed, long and low and with my whole body. He was moving slow, torturing me, his tongue tracing circles around the most sensitive parts of my body. His fingers roved my hips, and my legs, and my stomach, pinching and tracing and pushing. He lifted his head as I cursed again, watching me squirm. Then he moved again, and took my balls in his mouth. 

Waves of it were rolling through my body. I felt myself reaching a height, knew what was coming next. "Please, sir," I tried to tell him. I don't know how I made any words out of the vibrating mess I had become. "I'm going to come."

He looked up at me, took in my face. "No," he said simply, and took me back in his mouth. 

"God." I hid my face behind my arms, cursed and writhed, trying to hold back the waves of pleasure building behind my eyes, within his mouth, inside my core. "Please," I tried again. 

"Look at me." I shook my head. "Look at me," he commanded, and I did. I almost lost it then, seeing him there, his smiling face so close to areas that should be mine, that were now his. He kissed the top of my cock, once, then nodded. "Come."

I let it go, gasping, and came all over his face. 

At the end of it, I lay, trembling, staring down at the pirate captain who knelt between my legs. He grinned up at me and crawled up my body, moved his way up so he was straddling me. When his face hovered just above mine, he put his fingers to my chin and pulled my lips to his. He tasted like pleasure and warmth, and I kissed him soft and was no longer so afraid that I was going to break. 

I felt his hand in my hair and I opened my eyes to find his searching my face. I let them rove, let them explore my lips, my ears, the scar across my nose. "Never done something like this before, huh," he finally said. 

"No." He still had cum on his face. My cum. 

What the fuck had just happened?

"You're messy," I let him know. I thought about leaning forward and licking it off, what it would taste like. The thought caught me by surprise. I stared up at him, considering what an action like that would mean, how it would look, and suddenly found myself lifting towards his face tongue first.

He gasped as I succeeded, as surprised as I was. I stayed where I was moved when he pushed me back, smiling slightly at the taste I'd gotten for myself. He pushed his hair back, and I saw his hands tremble. His eyes were roving over me, taking in everything. 

"Fuck," he finally said. "I'm gonna go get cleaned up. I'll be right back."

He didn't tell me to be still this time, but I was. When he came back, he looked me over with this strange mixture of confusion and desire. Then, he leaned over and untied my hands. 

I immediately reached up and pulled him down, let my hands finally sink into his hair, let them brush against his cheek. I had been denied this so long, had been kept from knowing him in this way and there was so much I wanted to learn. He let me kiss and touch him for a while, then he pulled away. 

"Stop," he said raggedly. But he didn't command, it was just a word, so I reached out again and pulled him back to me, felt my hand slip down his chest, explore his stomach, reach around his back. I felt his breath catch as I neared his hip bones, as I passed them.

" _Stop._ " He pushed at me forcefully. It wasn't enough to actually move me, but move I did. "What are you doing?" 

I didn't know. Dazed, I tried to find some semblance of breath in the lust-driven creature I had somehow become. My hand was still caught in his hair, the only link between our bodies. He made no move to disengage it, and so I left it there, only moving it down the the nape of his neck. He pressed into my fingers, and I saw that he was shaking. I let him anchor himself in my splayed palm. 

"I don't want to be done," I told him. I didn't realize it was true until the words came from my throat. He closed his eyes and bit his lip. His breath was fast. "I want to do more."

"I don't want to overwhelm you," was his response. He didn't open his eyes. 

"You won't." He shook his head against my hand. "You won't, I promise." I was desperate for him, needed even more than he'd already given me. I moved my body closer to him, pulled his head towards me at the same time. "I'm strong," I told him, my lips on his, and his hand found it's way into my hair. His breath was ragged against my body. But he didn't come closer. 

"Fuck," he said quietly. "You make it hard, you make it so fucking hard." 

I didn't know what he meant by that, but I knew what I wanted. I reached down and traced my finger over his erect cock.

My head was ripped back, his gasp a receding echo as he pulled my hair hard enough to move my entire body away from his. I could hear his breath panting from where he sat. His hand gripped my hair tight, and I didn't have a choice but to wait to see if I had made a mistake. 

Just as suddenly as he had pulled me away, he yanked my head towards his, and we kissed, hot and deep and passionate. When he shoved at me, I fell back against the bed, and he fell on top of me, consuming me, my lips, my chin, my neck, up to my ear. I was gasping, reaching to pull him closer, but he kept pushing my hands away, pinning them against the rough sheets. 

In time, he pushed himself up. He propped his forehead on mine, resting as he caught his breath, his heart pounding against my chest. My body was in a daze, wrapped in a cocoon of sensations that I didn't understand but wanted to never end. Only he could free me, I realized. I had to do what he wanted, would always do what he desired. It was all I wanted, and I ached with it.

I waited to see what he would do with me, what decision he would come to. He moved his lips to my ear. "Stay on your back and spread your legs," he whispered to me, and I almost whimpered to hear it. "Be ready for me when I come back." 

I was waiting for him when he arrived, a jar of something in hand. I'd taken off my shirt while he was gone, a step we hadn't previously bothered with, and I don't think he'd been expecting it. He stopped and stared at me, free hand pushing back his hair, eyes demanding and dark. When he finally got into bed he settled between my legs, placing the jar on a side table in reach, and then he just looked at me. His eyes made me weak, weak in a way I had never been, and I felt like I should have been scared and yet I had never felt more safe. As his eyes explored me, so did his hands, sliding across muscles and skin, stopping at each and every scar they found as if marveling at my existance. He was a marvel. I was nothing but an afterthought. I pressed into his hands, guiding them down my stomach and over my hips. They ended up on my thighs, running up and down their scarred expanses. 

"I'm going," he said a little incredulously, "to fuck you." 

"Okay," I think I responded. It was hard to say anything in all the anticipation that was built up around my body. 

He ran his hand over my hipbones and I shuddered. "Are you scared?" 

"A little," I admitted. 

He lifted my leg up over his shoulder. "I need you," he told me, kissing my calf, biting my skin, "to relax." I could feel his breath shaking against my body, could feel how much he wanted this. His want drove the desire in my crazy, wrapped it up inside of me sparkling and hot. He kissed his way up my leg to my knee, leaving a trail of blossoming tingles behind. "It's going to be okay." 

I nodded, then gasped as my entire body shifted, the Captain pulling my hips up, his hands tight on my thighs. "Put your hands on the headboard," he instructed, and I did, "and don't you let go." He took a scoop from the jar, spread it on himself. I watched him. I couldn't take my eyes off his hand stroking his perfect cock, something I'd never wanted until tonight and now couldn't imagine living without. He moved his hand to me, his fingers gently spreading my ass, rimming my hole with lube. He paused, watching my eyes follow his every movement in anticipation, then pressed a finger inside of me. I gasped, lifting my hips, pressing against the pressure I hadn't realized I'd wanted so badly. He pulled it out and I let my breath out with it. "I don't want to see your hands anywhere but where I tell them." 

"Yes, sir," I said, my voice raspy, and felt him shudder. 

"Ready?" he asked, and I nodded, then he kissed my knee one last time and slowly pushed into me. 

I wanted to curse, or shout, or do something, but the intensity of it, the slowness, the pressure, it all took my breath away. I meant to look at his face, to watch him, but I just couldn't do it, couldn't pay attention to anything but what was happening inside of me. I heard him moan, though, heard him let slip a low noise that shot me through with pins and needles and fire, and I gripped the headboard as tight as I could so that I wouldn't cry out. 

He pressed into me again, but he was going so slow. It was torture, the feeling of wanting him deep inside of me, needing him there, and to have him move so slowly, so deliberately. I wanted him to move fast. I wanted him to move hard, as hard as he was, as hard as I was in danger of becoming again. "Fuck," I said, unable to contain it anymore. "Fuck fuck fuck."

He stopped, asked me something about pain, but stopping was the opposite of what I wanted, and pain was the opposite of what was going on, and I didn't know how to express that to him so I let go of the headboard and wrapped him up. One of my arms went around his waist and the one around his head, and he gasped and we cursed into each others lips and I pressed him into my body, pulled us as close as we could get, as deep as he would go. 

He was shaking as he pushed me away. "Headboard," he reminded me. 

" _Fuck_ ," I groaned as I lay back down, but it turned into a moan as he moved inside of me. 

He tortured me like that for what felt like eternity, going as slow as possible, watching me squirm, and curse, and beg. In time even he couldn't handle it and he began to pick up speed, falling into a rhythm of moans and curses and fucks and please, sirs, until we became a blur of cock and curse and pleasure and I couldn't tell where one thing started and the other thing began. 

"Touch me," he cried out, and my hands lept from the headboard where they had been gripping, obeying, bone white. I grabbed him tight, wrapped him up like before and pressed him deep, and we cried out together as he came inside of me. 

We lay there for a moment, breathing, panting. Then he pushed himself to stare down at my body with that same mixture of confusion and desire he had on his face earlier. He gently pulled out and I gasped as his member slide from my sensitive body. He traced the gaping hole he had left. We both felt it close around his finger. 

He looked up at me. "Fuck," he said softly. 

He collapsed next to me, tracing my body with his fingers. My hands now free, I found his hand and entwined my fingers with his, pulling his fingers to my mouth. I kissed his hand, then his fingers, then gently bit the inside of his wrist.

"Fuck, do you want more?" he laughed. 

"I think I'll always want more of you," I told him, because it was true and because I was flooded with endorphins. 

He propped himself up on his elbow and watched me. I let him, because there was nothing to see but me, and I wanted him to see me. Eventually he leaned over and kissed me, softly, gently, and I let him do that too. 

"Hey," I asked him when he pulled away, "what's your name?"

"Fuck," he laughed. Then he thought a bit and said it again, and it didn't sound as humor filled. "Fuck." He pulled away. "Shit, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For." He gestured vaguely. "This doesn't feel good." 

I laughed at that, endorphins still rushing through my system. "I thought it felt pretty good."

"No, not like." He sighed and sat up. I followed his lead, pulling my bulk up after him. "I feel like I just used you, somehow."

That got him a raised eyebrow. "Used me?" 

"Yeah, you know. I'm the captain."

"And?"

"And the captain shouldn't be having sex with the prisoners." 

"I'm not a prisoner." I had never been a prisoner, could never be. But he misinterpreted my argument. 

"Technically, you still are. We have to take a vote, to see what we do with you. We're democratic." 

"Okay. So I'm a prisoner." I shrugged at him. 

"Yeah." He pointed at himself. "And I'm the captain."

"You already said that." I smirked at him. "If you feel like you used me, that kind of implies that you wanted this all along, doesn't it?" I felt lazy. Felt drained and happy where I was. Safe. Safe enough, maybe, to needle this man a bit. "When exactly did you know you wanted to fuck me, Captain?"

He looked away. "All I'm saying is, there's a power dynamic here. You could have. I don't know, felt like you had to do what I asked." He looked down at his pointing hand, still pressed to his chest. 

I wanted to laugh at him, at the statement he had just made. I was still caught up in what had just happened, trapped in a web of satiated desire and the false tranquility that came after. As if this man could have made me do a single thing I didn't want to do. As if anyone could. But he looked so concerned, so guilty, that all my laughter disappeared from my lungs. Instead, I found myself telling him the truth, a new habit I'd picked up in his presence that I wasn't very fond of. "I would have done what you asked," I told him quietly, "no matter who you were." 

He went very still. 

"If you were the first mate," and I took his hand in mine, "or a deckhand," and I grabbed his waist, "or a scullery boy." I lifted him into the air, and he squeaked. It was a ridiculous sound to come from the captain of these pirates, these big tough baddies, and I smiled softly at him and put him down on my lap facing me. He tried to push away, weakly, and I captured his hand and put it behind his back. When he tried with his other hand, I put it behind his back too, and was pleased to find I could hold both his wrists in one hand. With my free hand I smoothed back his hair, taking my turn now to search his face, to watch him think through options, think through scenarios of what I could do now that I had him. He pushed against my hand with his wrists, and I pushed back, let him know that he couldn't break free. At the realization he made a small noise and I couldn't help it, I had to kiss him. 

He looked dazed when I pulled away. "You're dangerous," he said. 

I couldn't not agree with that. 

"You make me dangerous." He searched my face one last time, then shook his head. "Let me go," he said, and I knew it was a command and did it. "We need to get cleaned up." 

I looked down at myself, his cum still dripping out of my ass. "I kind of like how I am." 

He closed his eyes for a second. "Let's go," he finally managed. 

He walked me to the washroom, keeping at my side the whole time. It was a private suite as part of his captain's quarters. I took it in, noting the mirror, the private toilet, the full basin of clean water set out for a nightly wash. I walked in, expecting him to leave, but he simply crossed his arms. I kept my back to the wall and moved forward. "A bit of privacy, perhaps?"

He shook his head. "I'd rather you weren't out of my sight."

"Why not? Afraid I'll come after you?" He frowned at me. "Afraid I'll find something something like this," I picked up a straight razor from its box, "and try to kill you?"

It was meant as a joke. I thought I was dreaming, I think. It's the only explanation for how I'd been acting, for my careless words and even less careful actions. I was a planner; I planned. I knew what would happen when I picked up a knife. 

So I shouldn't have been so surprised when he grabbed a weapon of his own. 

"You don't need that," I said, watching him get ready to fight. He eyed me warily. "See?" I put down the razor, raised my hands in submission. My knees dropped to the floor for him, one after the other, an action I had never taken for any being before. He watched me submit. "I already told you," I reminded him quietly, "I'll do anything you ask." I saw the hunger glowing in his eyes.

He slammed the door in my face. 

I stayed there for a moment, processing the moment of desire and lust I'd read on his body before he'd closed me in. Then I shrugged and got myself cleaned up. There was nothing I could do about that now.

The Captain didn't look at me as I emerged from the bathroom, dripping and clean, just pushed past to clean himself. I didn't understand his sudden change in attitude, but I felt a twinge of concern that it had been brought on by something I had said. I settled myself in bed and hoped. 

He'd taken clothes with him into the wash room. He emerged in that same light shirt, same tight pants, and I was shocked by how much he still took my breath away. I had just seen him naked, had just watched him - 

I stopped my thoughts, swallowing hard. He caught my look and scowled. 

"I need to tie you back up," he said, all business, but my breath caught in my throat. "You're still a prisoner, and you just tried to attack me." 

"I didn't -"

"It was stupid to untie you in the first place." He wasn't looking at me, just gathering what he needed. 

I shrugged. He was in some sort of a mood. I leaned back and offered up my wrists. 

"Really," he continued, "You should be in the cells. You should be in irons."

I sat right back up and pulled my wrists into my body. He was staring out the window, watching the night stars dip and pull against the fabric of the sky. 

"Put me in irons," I said, my voice as quiet and still as the darkness he watched, a completely different voice than the one he'd heard all night, "and I will never speak with you again." 

It was an odd threat, coming from my lips. But you should never threaten someone unless you plan to follow it through, and I would never kill this man, or hurt him in any way, so this was the threat that came. 

He turned to look at me, then, saw my face and, I think, saw that what I said was true. Or at least that I meant for it to be. "Okay," he said quietly. "Ropes." And he might have been doing it to make me more comfortable, but really, what was my comfort to him? I let him tie me. Knots couldn't hold me, but he didn't know that yet, and his knots were as good to me as instructions to follow. He made the motions mechanically, not looking at my body, not looking at my face that lay so close to his, but the shake of his hands gave him away. When he was finished, he sat back. 

I tugged gently against the ropes, settling to a more comfortable position. 

"Stop it," he asked me, his eyes closed. I stopped. "I'm sorry," I said. "I just needed to move." He nodded without letting his eyes open. He waited until he was sure I was done, then made his way to his side of the bed. Only then did he actually look over at me in full.

"Shit, your pants."

I looked down at my still naked body. "Will it bother you?" I watched emotions go to war on his face. Eventually, practically or selfishness won out, and he let me be. He blew out the candle and sat on the edge of the bed. 

In the cover of darkness he spoke. "I'm sorry for the way that I acted tonight. I should have been more in control."

"I don't know what you're apologizing for," I tried, but he cut me off with a firm, "Be quiet." I was glad I couldn't see his eyes. 

"You deserve to be treated better." I disagreed, didn't understand what he was talking about, but his instructions had been clear. I heard him get settled under the covers. "Now, go to sleep."

He was asleep before the I could think to say anything else. 

I felt the ship lurch around me, comforting and known. Outside, the night sky held a thousand stars, and the sea was endless. 

I looked up at my bound hands, then at the sleeping man beside me. Things were not going according to plan. 

Not at fucking all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Captain's duties threaten to keep him from the sailor, while the sailor tries to find a place for himself on the ship. Will love conquer all? Is it love at all, or has our sailor mistaken the Captain's lust for something more?   
> More plot, learn more about our sailor's past and who he might be.

I was out of practice at waking up in beds that were not mine. 

My years in the mines had taught me the importance of constant vigilance. I'd barely been able to sleep anyway, without the rocking of a ship, the gentle singing of the sea. How can you trust the land? It's likely to drop out from under your feet at any moment. I'd never felt safe on solid ground; in prison mines, even less. Deep repose, the kind that steals your bearing from you and lets you rest your soul as well as body, was foreign to me. 

So when I woke, dazed and rested and not recognizing where I was, and found myself both bound and naked, I had an understandable moment of panic. 

Then I felt the ship creak beneath me, heard the ocean's relentless whirl, and calmed. So long as I had the sea, nothing could harm me. 

I let myself exist in that space, my freedom singing through my veins like rushing channels. The sunlight was warm and I was not in chains; the ocean called my name and I could finally respond.

I tried to sit up and bodily remembered the ropes around my wrists. This wasn't a real problem; knots couldn't hold me. But I found myself staring at these knots, as if they were something more.

The Captain hadn't wanted me to untie them.

I sighed and leaned back in the bed. The Captain. 

I didn't understand what had happened between us the night before. I understood that he was an attractive man; I understood that my body had, somewhat inexplicably, reacted to that. I could deal with that. People had told me for years that men could be beautiful in the same way that women were. I supposed I had just found someone who had convinced me.

But no, it was more than that. Because he wasn't beautiful like any woman I had ever seen, or like any man could ever be. He was the most incredible sight I had ever seen collapsed into the skin of a human being. This wasn't an extension of something I knew; the way he made me feel was like nothing I had ever experienced before. Nothing about him was like anything I had ever known. Not the way his lips had felt on mine, when he had finally leaned down and kissed me. Not the way his hands had turned my skin to ice while lighting my soul on fire, threatening to make my entire body crack under the pressure. Not the way his mouth had felt, as his bit and kissed his way down to my...

I closed my eyes and pressed them against my arm, refusing to look down at the fully erect cock that had risen between my legs. I couldn't be turned on like this, not just by thinking about him so mildly. Had I not gotten enough last night? I was confused, so confused at how my body reacted to him. To the mere thought of him. He utterly bewildered me, in everything that he did. 

It was not just his touch, or his body, or his gentle way of being so rough that confounded me so. It was the way he could command me. It was the way I wanted to do nothing more than make him happy, than to give him pleasure. 

I looked up to my hands, still tied as a courtesy to this Captain. Why was I listening to him? He could ask me anything, and I would obey. I felt that in the very core of my being, but for some reason it didn't frighten me at all. No - I felt nothing but excitement.

I sighed. Fate would do what she would. I supposed it only made sense that after so much pain from fighting, the man who would accept my surrender would give me such pleasure.

Not that he'd accepted it. 

That thought soured my mood instantly. His actions the night before had been so strange. Who was he to tell me what I deserved? Who I deserved? He didn't know what I wanted; he didn't know what I'd done. 

Well, I thought. That was hardly his fault. 

Still, he could have listened. I could have explained some things to him, if not all of it. I felt a ping of frustration at his lack of willingness to try. 

I leaned back, trying to push all of this from my mind. There was nothing to do about it now. Later, perhaps, I could try to talk some sense into him. For now, I laid and enjoyed the feeling of being at sea. 

In time, I had to get up. My body forced me - I really had to pee. 

I undid the knots the Captain had left me in. He was very good, and it took me a few moments, but soon I was on my way to the bathroom. 

I relieved myself, sighing contentedly. On the way back out the door, I caught sight of myself in the full mirror and did a double take. I examined my body closely in the polished silver. Rope burns scalded my wrists. Angry bite marks covered my sides, red proof of pain I didn't remember being in. On my neck, a few dark marks bloomed, bite marks and blood bruises from a rough mouth. A hand print bruised each of my thighs, yellow well on it's way to green, each finger distinct in it's pattern and grip. 

I did a quick check for other damage, but I didn't see anything. I didn't bother to check my back. I didn't like looking at it. Besides, I already knew what damage was there, and it wasn't last night's fault. 

All in all, it wasn't bad. I'd certainly had worse nights, and those hadn't had any joy to speak of. But if the Captain had seen this, after what he had said last night... 

I stopped. Thinking about the Captain garnered a myriad of complex emotions that I was not in the mood to deal with. I pulled myself from the mirror and stepped into my breeches, found my shirt where it had landed, then returned to my reflection to see what could be done. The sleeves could be pulled down to cover most of the damage on the arms, but there was no way to wear my collar that wasn't obvious I was hiding something. In the end, I just left my neck exposed. 

I sat on the bed and wondered what to do next. If I were playing nice, I would lie back down and tie myself back up, but that was kind of pointless now that I had dressed myself; it was obvious I had been up and moving about. I could read, perhaps. The Captain had an impressive chest of books. 

My stomach grumbled. I hadn't gotten dinner the night before, or breakfast yet. I looked at the door. It was stupid to go out and wander around the ship. It was literally asking for trouble. After all, as far as the men knew I was supposed to be in the cells. I was a prisoner.

Who cared about the other men. The ship was filled with nobodies. There was only one man who could command my attention, and I was busy putting him from my mind. 

I unlocked the door and strode out into the hall. 

I figured the mess must be somewhere near the dinner hall they'd taken me to the night before, so I retraced the steps as best I could. The closer I got, the stronger the smell of cooking became, so I knew I had to be on the right track. Soon, I could hear chattering voices darting through the hall. I followed the mix of sensations to the doorway of a cafeteria. 

Enough eyes looked up as I ducked through the doorway that I caused a stir. Half of those eyes started and reached for blades; the other half blinked drowsily at the unrecognized face. That motion set of a ripple of similar reactions through the rest of the ranks, until the entire room was a silent bristle of suspicion and knives and half awake eyes. 

"Hello," I said. "Is this where I could find some breakfast?" No one answered, so I took it upon myself to find out. I walked though the benches, stepping carefully around the gathered ranks until I reached the cook. "Could I get some food, please?"

"Crew only," he told me sourly.

"I've been informed that my status is prisoner." I didn't believe it, but I knew better than to go against the rules with cooks. I leaned down on the counter and peered into the kitchen. Pots boiled over with delicious scents, roiling through the small space and almost overwhelming me with homesickness. The kitchen had always been my favorite place on any ship. "I don't know if that counts for anything, but I'm very hungry."

"Prisoner, huh." He looked me up and down. "Well, they did say you were big."

I shrugged and spread my hands. Didn't really have much to say to that. 

"I already sent your food up with the Captain." He turned to walk away.

Uh-oh, I thought. That meant I probably didn't have much time before a confrontation. I felt a tingle grow in my stomach and tried to kill it fast. "That's odd, he sent me down for it." I smiled as brightly as I could. 

The cook looked me over carefully. His eyes noted my overly bright smile, a gesture I was obviously unfamiliar with, then moved to my lopsided shirt and landed last on the love marks on my neck. His scowl grew. "You know what you're doing?" 

My smile dropped. "I can handle myself."

He shook his head a little sadly.

In the end, he hurrumphed and handed me a platter filled with bread and a delicious smelling porridge. I thanked him warmly, genuinely. I was hungry, and the food looked good. Then it was time for me to try and find a seat. 

I turned; all eyes were still on me, the room deathly silent. I picked a spot close to the door to make my attempt.

"Is it alright if I join you?" I kept my voice genial and firm. The men looked like they'd rather say no, but people have a hard time refusing a direct request, and space ended up being found. The made me sit with my back to the door, however, which made me uncomfortable. 

The guy across from me leaned over. "They say you took down fifteen guys when you came from the other ship."

I shrugged. "The last time I heard it told it was twelve. When they settle on a number, you let me know."

To my left, a sailor chuckled. "It was ten at last count, actually. I'm Finn." 

"A pleasure," I replied. I didn't offer a name, and he didn't ask. We shook. 

"So where'd you stay last night?" Finn and the others leaned forward. 

"The cells," I answered easily, my attention on my porridge. It was rich and filling, a hint maybe of... cinnamon? I glanced up at the cook, curious about where he'd gotten this particular recipe, but he was busy at his work, his pinched face red from the heat of the small kitchen. 

"Uh-huh." Finn waggled his eyebrows, not bother to hide his inspection of my neck. "And how'd you find them?"

"The cells?" I looked at him, feigning surprise. "Fine, I suppose. How does one ever find cells?"

My casual answer put them off their questions for a little. I focused in on the porridge. I couldn't tell if it tasted familiar in the face of everything so strange that was happening, an anchor that my brain was creating for me, or if I actually recognized the construction. Either way, it was delicious. Conversation flowed around me comfortingly, and I allowed myself to believe, just for a moment, that things could settle back to normal. 

Suddenly the little guy across from me looked up. He was a young kid, towheaded and sparkly eyed in a way that made me nervous. "Heard you had dinner with the Captain."

"Yes."

They all looked at me. There were a few whispers as those not caught up asked questions from those in the know. 

"You talk to him?"

"Yes," I said again. I wasn't sure where the line was here, how much the Captain would want his crew to know. There were a few guys unabashedly pointing at the marks on my neck. I tried to look unconcerned. 

"Well?" Finn prompted. "How did you find him?"

"Yes," I heard a voice behind me ask. The room stiffened around me. "How did you find him." 

It wasn't a question so much an accusation. The voice was cold, dispassionate in its anger. Icy, it rolled over my shoulders like a frost, threatening my spine with a shiver. I quietly put my spoon down, the clank of metal on wood the only sound in the silent hall, and looked at Finn.

"The Captain?" I stated, as easy and unconcerned as I could be. I did not care about the Captain, I told myself. I heard my own lie in my head, anger brewing in my veins like a storm, surprising me with it's sudden ferocity. Who was this man, to come and tell me what I should feel, and what I should think, and who I should sleep with? Who was this man to deny me, me, a chance to speak my mind? 

Well, I thought. Let him hear me now. 

"Honestly," I heard myself say, "I found him to be quite arrogant." 

I felt the ripple move through the room again, felt the sailors pull back from me. The Captain's eyes burned the back of my head. I didn't care. Let him try to set water aflame. I picked my spoon back up to continue eating. The little guy across from me stared, aghast. 

"What are you doing," he whispered. "Do you want to get killed?" 

"Arrogant would be the right term, yeah," I continued, a little louder. "Thinks things can hold you when they clearly can't. Knows what's best for you, even if you say otherwise." I turned and met the Captain's eyes. "Tries to tell you how you're supposed to feel." 

"You," he said, eyes aflame. "Come with me."

I took another bite of porridge. The room might not have been breathing, it was so still. 

" _Come with me._ "

"My name," I said to my bowl evenly, "is not you." 

I heard Finn suck in his breath. 

The Captain could have screamed, then. Many men would have. Many captains, especially, would have screamed and threatened and tried to make me what they wanted. How many had already done just that? Maybe that's what I was testing for, maybe that's why I pushed. Maybe I wanted to see if he would try and make me submit, like so many in my life had before, an easy out for me to make my move and go. A quick exit from the strange vortex he put me in, just by existing.

But he didn't yell. I knew he wouldn't, really. So perhaps what I really wanted, what I selfishly craved was the way my body reacted when he came right up behind me and pressed one hand to my neck and his lips to my ear. 

"Stand up," he said, and I stood. "Walk." It was all said in an even tone, in a dangerous tone, in a way that made my whole body shiver with it, anticipate what he would tell me to do next, and I hated it. I loved it. My body sang with the vibrations as I made my way before him through the door. 

He pushed me through the hallways with his presence, a mirror the the pulling he had done the night before. I opened the door to his room and walked in. I heard him lock it behind us, the soft click signalling things I didn't want to hope for. 

"Get on your knees." I did, shivers floating down my spine. The bed squeaked as he settled down behind me. I waited. 

"What am I going to do with you," he finally asked. "You run away, you talk to me like that in front of my men -"

"You didn't give me a chance to talk to you alone," I countered. "We could have had that conversation here, last night. Or this morning. Instead, you left me. Tied up, like a dog."

"Not like a dog, I thought -" I heard him sigh. "We went over this. You are a prisoner." 

I made no attempt to correct him this time. Let him think what he wanted if he was so determined that this was what I should be.

"If you want to talk, fine. Talk. Talk to me, instead of running and forcing a confrontation in front of my men."

"I tried that last night," I reminded him. "You told me to be quiet."

"Oh, and you do whatever I tell you?"

"Yes." The word was so simple, so stark in its honesty, that it brought him to a stop. He breathed it in, held it in his lungs for a moment, and I almost thought that he would accept it. Then he exhaled forcefully.

"No. You don't. I told you to stay, and you ran." I could hear the frustration in his voice. "Why are you toying with me like this?"

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to."

"Yes," he said angrily. "You do."

"I really don't." I turned to look at him. Sitting there, leaning over like that, I could see his entire chest shadowed beneath his shirt. I ate him up with my eyes, feeling what it did to my body. "It just... happens." 

His eyes were hard, so hard. I wanted the rest of him to be the same. "Well. Stop."

How could I tell him that I was helpless against him? That my body would do whatever it needed to to be with his? It was more than that - more than just bodies, but I wasn't sure of that yet. At the time, all I knew was that I needed to press myself into him until I couldn't tell where our separation began.

"I want you," I told him.

"No." His gaze broke from mine. "You don't." 

And that was to be the end of that, and I tried to make myself respect it, even as the frustration grew at being told who and what I wanted. 

His gaze had fallen on the rope I had left curled on the bed, perfectly coiled. He frowned. He grabbed at the rope, looking for tears or signs of breaks. "Who even untied you?"

I shrugged. "I had to pee." 

He was quiet for some time. When he finally moved, it was to crouch before me. The movement brought him to my eye height, searching my face like he had been since we'd met. I met his eyes steadily, willing him to understand that I was telling him the truth. 

"Does it bother you? To be tied?"

"No." It had been unkind, to say what I had. 

"Because if it does -"

My words came out curter than I meant. "It doesn't." He looked surprised at my shortness, but I was tired of being not believed. 

He reached out and carefully tilted my head, looking at the sides of my neck, the dark bruises I hadn't been able to hide. His inspection was quiet, and intense. I shivered beneath his touch and watched his face for any signs of what any of this meant to him. What I might mean. I tried to keep myself from feeling disappointment when I saw nothing but frustration, pinned between those eyebrows of his. 

"I didn't even notice..." He trailed off, tipping my head this way and that. His gaze shifted to my chest, where he could see the top of a bite mark peeking out from my off-kilter shirt. "Shit" he finally sighed. "Alright, let's get your shirt off."

I didn't move. 

"I want to see what damage I did."

I ignored him, staring at the floor. 

"Listen. I'm not going to hurt you again, you don't have to -"

I jerked my head up. "Hurt me?" I couldn't believe how dense he was. Was he truly concerned about that?

He blinked. "Well, yeah. Isn't that what you're worried about?"

"No." I sighed. This boy would be the death of me. "Look at me." He did, his eyes roving my arms, my chest, my face. I reached out and cupped his face in my hand. His eyes met mine, shocked and confused as I stared him down. "Do you really think you could hurt me?"

"Yeah. I mean." He pulled away. "Didn't I?" 

"No."

"Take off your shirt." 

I shook my head. I didn't want him to see what he had done. I had a feeling it wouldn't help my case.

He grabbed my chin and made our eyes meet. "Take off your shirt." 

Even through all of this, I still recognized his command. 

He stepped back as I pulled the fabric over my head, taking in the bruises, the bitemarks, the ropeburns. He frowned and came closer, inspecting them, his face dark and closed. "I'm sorry," he told me again. "I didn't realize; I should have been in control." 

That reaction was exactly why I hadn't wanted him to see. "Believe me when I say this is nothing."

He ignored me. "I shouldn't have had sex with you, not at all." 

I grabbed his hand again. He wouldn't look at me. "I just told you. This is nothing." It was frustrating to be ignored, to have my voice not even acknowledged. 

"I promise you," he said as he stood, "it won't happen again."

"Will you listen to me!" I stood up, erupted, propelled myself forward to where he was standing. He gasped and reached for the blade he wore at his side, but I had him pinned before he had a chance to fully draw it from its sheath. I pushed it back down, returning shining metal to dull leather, and pressed on the soft spots in his hand until he cursed in pain and released his grip. 

"I just told you," I said quietly, pushing my leg between his. I wanted him, how I wanted him. He moaned quietly as I moved my body over his, sending spikes of pleasure through my brain. It was becoming hard to think. He was so close to me, and I to him. "It's okay. If you want me, just take me." I watched his lips part and I felt him becoming hard against me, felt him wanting me. I pulled his arms up over his head, holding his wrists with one hand as I traced my fingers down his arm. I let them rest for a moment on his neck, feeling his blood race beneath the pads of my fingertips. His eyes had drifted shut at some point, and I could feel his breathing quicken with each motion my body made. His chin lifted, moving his lips to just inches from mine. Those perfect lips were parted, quivering. I leaned down. 

"No," he said against my lips. I froze, his command echoing through my body like ice. 

He dropped his head against my chest. "Fuck," he whispered. Then, louder, " _Fuck_." I moved away from him, letting his wrists drop, finding my shirt and redressing along the way, staring at the wreck of a being I had just crashed against. I had been so sure when I had made my move, had been so sure as I had done all of this. I had just wanted him, wanted him to want me, but looking at him there, standing hunched over and broken, I realized that this was killing him. 

I hated it.

It hurt, to see him there like that. As he crumpled before me, I fell with him, a mirror to his descent, his body sliding down the wall and collapsing inward as if there was some weight pulling him in. My knees hit the ground, again, for him. Always for him. I had done wrong, to push him to this. I had been the one not listening. 

"Fuck," I echoed him. 

Eventually he looked up, saw me watching him. "Stop," he told me. 

"I don't know what I'm doing." 

"Just. Stop." He looked away. 

"Okay," I said softly.

"That," he spat. "Stop doing that."

"I don't -"

" _I said stop_."

I stopped, my body shivering with the sound of his voice. 

He took a deep breath. "You can't just come onto my ship, and do this to me." I wasn't so sure he was talking to me. "You can't make me feel this way. It isn't right. It can't be."

"I'm sorry." I tried to make my voice soft. I was afraid he might become nothing but broken planks. "I just wanted you." He didn't move, and my voice continued, "And I thought you wanted me."

He shifted.

"Didn't you?" I heard myself ask, my voice small, and I hated myself. 

"There are rules." He wasn't looking at me. "Rules about conduct and rules about how I can act. Control of myself and control of my ship."

"Who's rules?"

"Mine." He took a deep breath, but he still wouldn't turn my way. Wouldn't lift his head. "I can't do this, if I'm to be what I am. I gave up being a person when I agreed to be their captain. I gave up all of this, whenever I'm at sea."

"That's -"

"Personal attachments," he interrupted, finally turning his gaze to me, "are dangerous. They lead to weakness. I need to be strong for them."

"Okay," I conceded in the face of his glare. "Okay."

He searched my face for a long time, then took in the rest of me, let his eyes trace the outlines of my skin, the way my shirt slipped over my collarbones. Suddenly he squeezed his eyes shut and slammed his head against the wall, causing me to start forward, afraid he'd hurt himself. 

"You make it so hard," he muttered. Then he was standing, and he was the Captain I had come to recognize, cold and even. But beneath his eyes I could see the storms raging, watched tempests play out against his soul. To see him like this, to know the pain I had put him in, it made my chest hurt even as I felt tingles shiver through my spine at his commands. 

"Get in the chair." I moved quickly towards the desk chair he indicated as he walked towards me, trying to keep distance between our bodies. He grabbed the ropes from the bed and tied my wrists, taking great care not to touch my skin. When he finished, he stepped back and looked at me. I didn't look at his face, didn't want to know what was or wasn't there. I heard him go across the room, heard him rustling as he searched for something. 

He returned and stood before me, just stood for some time. I gathered the pain in my chest and looked up.

He held the manacles dangling in his hand. 

I felt my breath catch. I knew he would still have my warning in his ears, I knew he understood what this would mean. I rolled my eyes slowly up to his face and found it impassive.

"I'm sending someone up to take you down to the cells. They'll put you in irons down there anyway."

"I cannot guarantee the safety of your crew if that were to happen."

His voice lashed from his mouth. "Do _not_ threaten my crew."

I lifted my chin and let him see the truth in my eyes, let him look for it himself. We stared each other down, the Captain's dark eyes demanding, my grey eyes warning, storms roiling in each. 

" _Fuck_ ," he finally said one last time before throwing the manacles on the bed and storming from the room. 

I wanted to scream. I waited only minutes before untying myself, throwing myself bodily from the chair he had confined me to. I paced around the room for a bit, but pacing is just another form of inaction and it did me no good. I would have to do something, or I was going to die from all the things that were crashing about inside of me.

He didn't want me. He couldn't have me. I had hurt him. I needed to get my head on straight; needed to get to place where I could think. And on the ship, on any ship, there was really only one place for that. Where I felt like home. 

I took a breath and tried to calm down. I had to leave this room anyway. I knew he wasn't coming back, and I wasn't going to be put in a position where I would have to hurt someone he cared about. Caring about by proxy - that was a new one for me. I coiled the ropes again and left them on the chair, then headed back to the mess hall.

The cook didn't even look up when I walked in. "No food," he said. "Leave."

I kept moving forward instead. The scents called to me, helped settle the hole that was growing in my stomach at the rejection I had just faced. They were familiar, too familiar to be coincidence, and I tried to convince myself of that as I moved forward. "I was looking for work, actually."

That got his attention. He scowled when he saw me. "Go away. I don't have a death wish." 

I smiled. "I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"Yeah, but I'm not as hot as you, so I won't last as long when the Captain's pissed." 

I felt my smile sadden at that. "I'd really appreciate something to do with my hands," I paused as I took a breath and took a chance, "Alan." 

"Oh, now he thinks we're on first name -" He froze, hands halfway through peeling a potato. 

"You are Alan," I asked, moving into the kitchen. "Right?"

The potato fell, but the knife remained. I watched it shake and stayed out of range. "Why are you here?" His voice barely reached me through the kitchen's smoke. 

"It was your porridge," I said, softly. The scents of the kitchen held me. I couldn't leave, wouldn't leave. "It tastes just like Minnie's." 

The knife lowered. "You know Minnie?"

"Grew up in her kitchen." 

"Scullery boy, eh?"

I leaned on the counter, drinking in the scene, the pots around me, the arrangements of knives and tools that were almost the same but just a tad different. It grounded me, helped me to forget what had just happened. I anchored myself in soups and sauces, and threw away the pain I felt. "Something like that." I knew that I shouldn't be here, shouldn't be exposing myself to this man, and yet...

"Min didn't have need of scullery boys."

He had the same pots, I noticed. I wondered if they'd bought them together, or if they'd been a gift, or if they were just so similar they'd chosen the same set. "Taught me everything I know. About knives. About life. Being smart, and when to be dumb." I shrugged, ignoring the knife still pointed vaguely in my direction. "Strategies of command."

"Scullery boys don't need strategies of command," he said warily.

I smiled to hear his voice. They even talk the same, I thought. "Told me about her brother, too. And how he could never quite get their grandma's soup right." I blinked as the knife was raised back to my eye level. 

After an appropriate moment of threatening, the cook sighed and lowered the knife. "Minerva, eh?" He gestured me the rest of the way into the kitchen with the blade and handed me a potato. "How's she doing?"

"Haven't seen her in some years, to be honest."

He grunted. "Yeah. Me either." 

We worked on potatoes silently for a moment. A rhythm was set, the cook's hands flying over the lumpy tubers and flicking skin expertly into the waste bin. I had to concentrate to keep up with his pace and not get cut in the process. It was good to think about something other than what I had just done, what had just happened, keeping my hands busy with a steady stream of methodological actions. I let my eyes wander the kitchen as I worked.

"You have the same pots as her, you know."

He grunted.

"It's really nice to finally meet you, Alan."

He threw down his knife angrily. "I don't go by that name anymore."

"I'm sorry."

"And you have some nerve, coming in here, calling me by a dead name."

I nodded. He watched me carefully, studying my face for any sign of trickery, but all I had were the last splashes of guilt, colored by a growing nostalgia. He grunted and threw me another root. "What do you call yourself, son?"

I thought about that as I worked. There were a lot of answers to that question, and none of them were especially good. 

"It's an easy enough question."

I sighed, coming up with an acceptable explanation. "My name is simmering. I need to keep it covered for a bit more, until it's done." 

"Cooking metaphor for the cook, I see, he can't understand anything but what's in the kitchen." I smiled as he grabbed up another potato and set to it angrily. "I've got to call you something, so what'll it be?"

"Boy is fine."

"Good, easy. I like it. Well, here you shouldn't call me Alan. Understand? Here, I'm Cookie."

"Because you're so sweet?"

He flashed me a scowl as he turned away from the table we were working at. He bustled around his kitchen for a bit, chopping this, spicing that, while I kept up the task of potato peeling. I took the time to think, to try and understand what was going on. 

And what was going on was, I had lost the Captain. 

I shouldn't delude myself; I had never had him to begin with. What had happened the night before was nothing but a slip up, a mistake on his part. Probably due to keeping his dick in his pants for too long on the sea. He had rules, he had said. Gave it all up to be a Captain. I didn't understand his reasons for it, but I would have to respect them. 

All I understood was that I could not have him.

For some reason, rather than just disappointment, this thought filled me with the deepest, most bottomless sorrow which manifested in an almost physical pain. How had I let this happen, I thought to myself. How had I let this strange man have such a hold over me? I was the storms that ravaged the seas; I was the fifty foot swells that swallowed boats whole and swatted at navies like flies. I was untamable and uncaring and this man, this man had brought me to my knees. He wanted me, but wouldn't touch me, and that somehow hurt more than anything I had been through yet. Any of the torture, any of the pain. I had come through all of that, and this was the thing that was ripping my soul to pieces? It just didn't make sense. It wasn't fair. 

I let myself wallow for a bit, but wallowing never did me much good and I'd never been one to indulge for long. And so, standing there with the potatoes, I came to a decision. In the end, it was simple. He would not touch me. The Captain had said that he would not, and a Captain should keep his word. If I let it, this could break me. For some strange reason, I cared that much. But I had rules too. I could not be broken, and so this would not break me. I would just have to continue, riding the ship until they dropped me off. And then I would continue some more, until I did what needed to be done. 

Simple.

My body was resigning to never having him touch me again, and it hurt. I gasped in the face of it, feeling any hope flee as I realized just how much I was losing, how much I could have had. I put down my potato and my knife and tried to just breathe. 

It was simple, yes, but that didn't make it easy. 

"Boy!" Cookie needed me, and I hung onto that like a lifeboat. He was tasting the soup he was preparing, the one that spat smells that had brought me so surely to him. He passed the spoon to me. "Really. What is it missing?"

I sipped deep, letting the familiar tones flow over my tongue. Thank all the gods for distractions. There was a hint of something, something not quite right... "You added the onions first, to sweat?"

"Yes, yes."

"And _then_ the garlic?"

"Of course, and then the -"

"Lime." 

He stopped. "Lime?" He looked around him, then scurried to various cabinets, opening and closing doors. "She adds lime," he muttered, "it's a fucking sailor's recipe, grandma was a sailor, her father was a sailor, of course she fucking adds lime."

I peeled potatoes and watched him. I felt strangely at home here, or maybe not so strangely. I had gotten my start in a kitchen like this one, with a cook just like this, food so similar it was almost identical. How strange, I thought, that fate brought me to this ship, to this cook. 

No, not fate. That the Captain brought me here. I froze and looked down, the ice in my stomach that the soup had begun to melt threatening me again with violent force. 

"What can you tell me," I managed to ask, "about the Captain."

Cookie turned and looked at me. "Nothing," he said. "I like my body the way it is, intact, and not part of the soup I serve."

But cooks gossip, it's in their blood. And I had to know, despite my better judgement. "Does he really not sleep with anyone?" 

The cook scoffed. "He sleeps with whores on the docks, goes the word. Disappears for hours, leaves Wicky in charge. That's how he gets his information, some say. Fucks whores so good they're loyal to him forever. Course, others say he's just payin' like the rest of us." He bustled around me, not noticing how my face had gone so very still. "Wicky's the first mate, hard ass. Slippery sort of fella. He won't like you," he told me flatly. "When we were still up north, Cap used to be more relaxed, but after all that business -"

"You were up north?" I was ignoring how hearing that the Captain preferred whores over me stabbed at my gut. Whores were lovely people, I told myself. And it wasn't like I had never paid for sex. This was an unreasonable reaction.

"Aye, we used to run with the King's Brigade."

"Privateers?" I frowned. "I understand it's lucrative, but -"

Cookie spat. "Fuck 'em, not those scum floatin' for a limp dicked toothless hack who has to have his son chew his food for him." 

I blinked. This was definitely Minnie's brother. "But you said the King."

"Aye, son, the true king. The King of the Sea. The Pirate King, him of a hundred names and a thousand lies."

I smiled at the poetry falling like rocks from Cookie's lips. "Sounds like a fairy tale."

"Aye, boy. It was. Thousands of pirate fleets, all loyal to their king and master."

"Pirates aren't loyal to anyone."

"Not anymore, they aren't," he muttered. He pointed over my shoulder with his ladle. "Incoming."

I turned and found the Captain barrelling past the door. At the sight of me in the kitchen, he stopped dead and came back until he filled the door frame, staring at me with those intense eyes. He held so much frustration pinned up between his brows that I didn't know how he wasn't falling over with the weight. 

I didn't know what to say to him, so I just kept peeling potatoes. My stomach was doing flips at the sight of him, decked out in his jet black cloak, the skin of his chest suddenly seeming to have as many hues as his hair. How many terrifying things had I faced down, and this man was the thing that made me nervous?

This man who would not have me. This man who would not break me. 

"I thought," he finally said, walking towards me, "that I told you not to do this shit anymore."

"You also told me not to listen to you." It was a weak argument and I knew it. He slammed his hand on the counter between us. Cookie jumped; I didn't. 

"You don't have to go around scaring Cookie for shit I've done," I told him quietly.

"Scare Cookie?" He laughed, a dry sound that got tangled up in his hair. "Fuck, do you even know what you did?"

I pointed at the potatoes. "I needed something to do with my hands." 

"You were supposed to be tied up, waiting to be taken to the cells. If one of my men had found you, do you know what they would have done? What I would have had to order them to do?"

"As if they could touch me."

"Don't you go doubting my men."

"What," I said, putting down the potato in hand, "would you have had me do? Wait around to be taken to the cells? Be put back in irons?"

"Yes! You should have stayed. In the room! Tied!"

I couldn't help myself. He could have had me; he could have me every night, but instead he had whores on the docks, and the bitterness made me spit, "I thought you didn't want me tied up in your bed anymore."

"STOP," he roared. He came around the counter, moving fast into the kitchen. "This isn't a fucking game!" I saw the real anger in his eyes, saw the real fear in Cookie's, and made a decision just as he reached out to grab me. 

As soon as I had him on the ground. I drug him behind the counter, out of view of the doorway. "Cookie," I said, using my most calming voice, "go watch the door."

The cook whimpered as he heard the Captain sputter in the hold I had him in, watching him kick and fight. 

"Hey, Alan. Alan." He looked at me, eyes wide with fright. "I'm not going to hurt him, I promise." 

Cookie swallowed and nodded. He backed out of the kitchen with eyes so big I thought they would burst. 

The Captain was still fighting me, trying to push away the arm I had around his neck. I shushed him, burying my head in his hair, waiting for him to stop struggling. "You're okay," I told him again and again, "I'm not going to hurt you, you're okay." I didn't love that this had been my course of action; to hold him down, so soon after pushing myself on him, it felt wrong. But I needed him to calm, needed Cookie to be alright. I held him and hoped he would forgive me, even as I loved the feeling of having him in my arms, and knew it would be the only way I could achieve it. 

Eventually his legs stopped their spastic scrabbling for purchase, his hands simply hanging on my muscled forearms. For the second time in as many hours, I could feel his heartbeat against my skin, pounding fast and hard. I waited until he hadn't moved for a good minute, then shifted his head so I could look down at him. 

"You good?" 

When he nodded I slowly released the pressure from my hold. Even when he could move, he stayed wrapped in my arms, heart beating, hands on my arms. 

"Fuck," he whispered. 

"I'm sorry," I told him. "I didn't mean to touch you again."

He bucked against my arms and I let him pull away completely, watching him sit up in front of me. This distance between us immediately hurt, my body needing to be reminded again and again that it couldn't reach out and have him. I hid my hands under my legs so they wouldn't take their own actions.

"I shouldn't have pushed you," I continued. "I'm usually better at planning, at knowing the consequences of my actions, but lately things haven't been going so well." I looked at the bowed shoulder in front of me. "Somehow it seems to get worse around you."

He scoffed. 

"I'm sorry," I said again. 

The curls tilted back. "No, I should have had better control. You shouldn't have needed to do this." 

"I didn't need to do anything. I just didn't want Cookie scared." 

He processed that, maybe even heard me this time. "I scared Cookie," he repeated. I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "But not you?"

I let myself laugh, chuckling low and deep. "There is very little that scares me."

"You don't know me." 

I wanted to wrap my arms around his waist at the sorrow I heard in his voice, as loosely as I could, touching as little of him as I could manage. Just hold him, just be around him. But he was too far away, and I knew he didn't want my touch, not any of it. I should have let him be, maybe. I should have just let him go. But I couldn't. "I'd like to."

"I could hurt you." He said it so seriously I laughed again. The sound made him turn to me, frowning, that brow furrowed so deeply. 

I met his eyes with a smile. "I'd never let you do that." It was half a threat, half a promise, and I saw a shiver pass through him as the words reached him.

"I know he's here, cook," we suddenly heard, "so stand aside!"

I sighed and stood, expecting the Captain to do the same. Instead, he remained on the floor, head bowed. 

The three men at the door immediately caught sight of me. It was hard not to; I stand out in a space so small. One I recognized, the man called Finn. One of the others was the scandinavian I'd carted on my back the first day I'd arrived. The last was a thin brunette, his close cropped hair making his forehead look massive. "You," he growled, pushing Cookie aside. He hit a table and cried out. I started forward, but the Captain grabbed by pant leg. I looked down at the shimmering shock he gave me and was met with a shaking head. 

I heeded him. I had to. 

"What have you done with the Captain, you scoundrel?" 

"Treated him better than you just treated Cookie," I said flatly. His eyes narrowed. The Captain sighed. 

I watched this thin man take in my massive frame, all my scars. I was intimidating, when I wanted to be. I was whatever I wanted to be, whenever I wanted to be. But this man worked under the Captain, and wasn't easily scared by men. 

I thought briefly about how he might react to ghosts. 

Suddenly, his eyes caught on the bruises on my neck. I watched them go wide. 

"You fucking slut," he hissed, rushing towards me. 

I couldn't hide the amazed gasp of laughter that accusation pushed from my throat. I readied myself to take this man down, feeling a sense of calm come over my being. 

"Who do you think you are, coming here and taking him like that? You think I couldn't hear you fucking screaming all last night? My room is right next to his, I could hear all of your sick little moans, banging away at our -"

As he rounded the corner, he tripped over the Captain's strategically placed leg and went sprawling. 

"Oh, hey Wicky," the Captain said drily. "Didn't notice you there." He stood, stepping carefully around his first mate's limbs and gestured for me to follow. We moved into the mess where the other two sailors looked positively sick. 

"Cap," the scandinavian one tried, "we're here to take the -"

"No need," the Captain interrupted. "He'll continue to stay with me."

"But -"

"He can untie knots," he explained, "so he needs constant supervision."

"Cap," Finn's voice entered the space very carefully, "we have irons."

The Captain rolled his gaze over to the sailor. He shrunk beneath the icy expanse. "Finn, are you questioning me?"

He swallowed. "No, Cap."

"Good." He turned to me. At the sight of his face, my skin shivered with anticipation of the orders I knew he would give, even as my brain tried to stop it. "Walk."

But something held me back, despite my shivering body. "Can I check on Cookie first?" 

I actually thought he might say no for a moment, so intense were his eyes. But he softened quickly, and sighed. "Of course. Go."

I made my way over to the stunned cook. "Hey. Are you okay?"

Cookie groaned and rubbed his back where he'd taken the hit. "Told you he wouldn't like you." 

I smiled. "I had to leave him in your kitchen. Is that alright?" 

He glanced over towards the doorframe. "Has to be, doesn't it?"

"No, Cookie." At the cold intensity in my voice, the cook looked back. "It doesn't."

I was still amped from thinking I was going to have to fight Wicky; the last traces of my intensity must have still dripped from my face. Cookie watched them fall and I could see him thinking, could actually watch him putting pieces together. "Holy moses," he breathed. He stared at me, a realization dawning on his face. I blinked in the face of it, not knowing quite what to expect. I'd told him enough that I really should have foreseen this, probably should have been preparing, but there had been a lot of other things on my mind. For a brief moment, I wondered if I had miscalculated. Then his face split into a massive smile. "It's you." 

He looked me up and down for a bit, then reached out and began shaking my hand wildly. "Well," he said, grinning like an idiot. "They did say you were big." 

I grinned back and pulled my hand away. The Captain was waiting. 

As we walked away, I heard Cookie muttering to himself, "On my ship. In my kitchen."

"Don't smile," the Captain said. "You just made a powerful enemy. Means you're more than likely to be voted off at the next port, if they don't agree to just maroon you before then." 

I shrugged. As if the ocean frightened me. "There's nowhere on the sea that you hide from me," I told him, a little giddy from our recent encounter. He gave me a funny look but didn't say anything more.

We got back to the bedroom and closed the door. He didn't lock it this time, just settled down at his desk to work on some paperwork. I sat on the bed.

"You brought me back here." 

"Aye," he said, scratching at his paper. 

"No ropes?" 

He shrugged. "What's the point?"

You like it, I thought. I didn't say it. The Captain would not touch me again, and I knew it. It would be foolish to flirt. 

"So all that time," he confirmed, putting down his quill, "you could have gotten out whenever you wanted."

"I told you. I was never a prisoner. And I would never let you hurt me."

Where before that had aroused a shiver, now his only reaction was a scoff. 

"What?" I kept my voice soft in the face of his denial. "You don't believe me?"

"No, it's just." He shrugged. "You don't know what I'm capable of." 

It was my turn to scoff. "What. Some bitemarks?"

He looked away. 

"Look," I said, lifting my shirt so he could see. He didn't bring his gaze anywhere close to me, so I got up and walked over to him. I took his hand in mine, ignoring the small noise of protest he made. He needed to understand this, I told myself, pretending this had nothing to do with how my body ached to be near his. This was something he should know. Then I would let him be. "Feel. I'm alright. I promise you, you didn't hurt me. This isn't pain, not in the way you're thinking. I would never let anyone hurt me, not even you." His eyes traveled to mine at that. I held them steady. "I let you do this to me, whether you get that or not; I let you do this, because I enjoy it." He tugged at my grip and I let him pull away, reluctantly, conscious of how long our skin had been in contact. "I understand why you can't keep doing this. I don't like it, but I understand it. And I'm sorry that I keep pushing you, that I pressured you to do more than you wanted."

"Not more than I wanted," he corrected. "More than I should."

My stomach fluttered at that. 

I sat beside him, then, so close together and yet worlds apart for a long time. What I wouldn't have given for our worlds to collide. Being so close to him was torture. I found that I couldn't look over to him for fear of my heart stopping, my desire was so bad. The room was a desert, and he was an oasis, one from which I had been banned to drink and felt as if I were slowly dying. Fuck, I could smell him, a heady scent that set my teeth on edge with desire and made my skin prickle. It was torture, and I wouldn't have it any other way. So when he suddenly spoke, it was as if the heavens opened and rain poured upon my face. I gulped at his words.

"I'm sorry for my first mate."

"Worse things have been said to me." It wasn't meant as a lie to make him feel better; the first mate's words had been nothing. I looked up to him and realized that he hadn't been writing for some time; his quill was dry in his hand.

"Especially," he continued as he turned to look at me, "since he lied."

Confused, I met his gaze found his eyes burning so intensely that I involuntarily pulled back. "What?"

He leaned on one arm, looking down at me. I shrunk under the ferocity of his inspection, yet felt my body inexplicably reacting, my skin flashing hot and cold, the flesh under my skin crawling with pleasure. "He said you screamed." 

I didn't understand how he could keep his voice so steady when he was so obviously boiling over. His hand reached out and touched me and I flinched at the cacophony of sensation that simple gesture brought. My breath was fast, my heartrate faster. 

He wrapped his hand around my chin and pulled, and I moved towards him because it was what he wanted, what I wanted. I felt his leg brush between mine and I gasped. 

"You were so quiet last night," he whispered, moving his leg gently. He didn't have to excite me; I had been hard since his first touch. His hand found its way to my hair, guiding my head against the side of his leg. I panted against him, confused and shocked and wanting him, as he whispered, "I want to hear you scream."

"Wait," I managed, but the noise got lost in the creases of his body. I didn't understand what was happening, but my body was singing with it and that was all I could really ask for. 

"Come to bed," he ordered. He hooked his fingers around the base of my jaw and stood, pulling me up.

"Wait," I said again, but I didn't mean it. I followed him as he walked backwards across the floor, our eyes locked. When he toppled into bed I fell on top of him.

I was so confused, so lost by his sudden transformation. He had said he couldn't have me; I had resigned myself to this. He guided my head into the crook of his neck and pressed against me and I forgot how to think.

With him, when I was with him, there was only need. I knew that it was wrong, that I was wrong for him and therefore this was wrong for me, but I couldn't help myself as he spidered his hand across my back. A moan escaped my lips as his body pushed against mine. 

"Louder," he whispered. "I want to hear you."

Something managed to click in my foggy brain. I pulled back. "Wait, but your first mate. Isn't he..."

I saw the grin splashed across his face. "Yeah. He should be. Takes a nap right around this time every day."

"Hold on." I pushed away from him, tried my best to escape the pull he had enacted on me. I had a sinking feeling in my gut that I didn't love. "What is this about?"

He bit my ear and I almost collapsed back down. "Stop," I tried. "Wait... I thought you couldn't..." It was hard to think full thoughts with what he was doing to my body. In the back of my head, I heard Cookie's voice telling me how he commanded whores' loyalty. I tried to push that thought away.

"I'm the captain," he told me huskily.

" _Exactly_." I shoved away from him completely. "What the fuck is going on here?"

His eyes searched my face. "You want me, don't you?" I didn't know what to say. Of course I fucking wanted him. I watched a smile slid softly, hungrily across his muscles. "Well, I want you too."

My stomach dropped like I had leapt from the highest mast. I wondered, briefly if he would catch me before I shattered on the ground. 

"This is the only way this can happen," he was continuing. "I can't have you, but the Captain can." 

"What?" I was trying to pay attention, but it was hard with the way he was looking at me. 

"As the captain." He was reaching for me now, his eyes hungry, his hands setting off fireworks against my skin, "it's my job to mete out justice." 

I was letting him touch me, trying to focus through the things he was doing to me.

"What Wicky said to you. The things he said." He was so close to me again, his breath brushing against my skin. Goosebumps shivered all the way to my bones. "That can't stand. He needs to know his words have no effect, that I'm in charge."

This is about Wicky, I thought. This isn't about him wanting me at all. If I were anyone else, he would still do this. I felt my body stiffen at the realization and was surprised at how much it hurt. 

I sat up to get away from him. "I'm a means to an end, then." He laid where I had left him, dark hair spilling out over the sheets. I didn't let myself look at him there, beautiful and perfect. 

"I was just going to flog him, but he'd have to approve that." He spoke about it so casually, so flippantly, the words drifting up to me where I sat. I faced away from him. "Then I thought about assigning him to deck duty for a week. But this is better. " He sat up and put his arms around my shoulders, pressed his lips to my ear. "Scream," he whispered. "Shout. Do what you need to do. I want him to hear you." His hands were at my waist, working on getting my pants loosened. "What better poetic justice is that?"

"You're using me to get to him."

I felt him smirk against my skin. "I thought you were okay with being used."

I didn't say anything to that, just explored the strange depth of emotion that was opening up within me. 

"This is what you wanted," he told me, and I wanted to cry as he pulled me onto the bed. It felt like he was ripping me in two. "Isn't it?" 

Wasn't it? I'd wanted him to touch me, and here he was, touching me. I'd wanted him to want me, and he wanted me. Wanted something from me, at least. Wasn't that enough? 

"No," I told him quietly, but my word was lost as my traitorous body pressed against him and he moaned. I hated myself, hated my insatiable flesh. I had wanted him, and here he was. Why wasn't I happy?

I didn't understand yet that it wasn't my body but my soul that yearned for him, and that nothing would be enough until he gave himself to me the way I had already given myself so foolishly and completely to him. 

At the time, however, all I knew was the crashing desire that gripped me as he took my body in his arms. "What do you need from me, Captain?" I heard myself ask, and hated how my body gave to him before his gentle hands. I gasped as he slid his hand into my pants, found my cock hard and erect in his grasp. 

"You," he told me firmly, "call me sir."

I felt my body curl as he rubbed the top of my cock. "Yes, sir," I managed raggedly, and he rewarded me with a bite to the soft spot between my neck and shoulder, and I collapsed fully into submission. 

"You need to tell me," he said as he climbed on top of me, his voice shaky, "all the things that drive you nuts. I want to know everything, everything I can do to make you scream. You stoic, quiet man, I will make you mine, I will turn you into a quivering, moaning mess. Okay?"

I nodded. 

"I asked, okay?"

"Yes, sir," I gasped, my mind numb with desire. I know he could feel what he was doing to me, how much I trembled above him, how hard I was under his hand. 

"And sailor," he told me, grabbing my chin so hard it hurt. "Don't you dare come until I tell you to." 

I almost came just at that, at the order, at the way he grabbed me, but I managed to voice, "Yes sir," so breathlessly that he laughed. He pushed me back, not giving me a chance to breathe before he was on top of me kissing me so fiercely I almost lost myself. 

Finally he let me be, taking a moment to take off his shirt. I cursed to see his beautiful bare skin in the daytime, a gift to my eyes that was cut short when he pulled my lips back to his. 

"What," he asked me in between bites and kissed of my cheekbone and ear, "do you want me to do to you?" 

"Fuck," I cursed as he hit a sweet spot, writhing in pleasure. There weren't many other words in my head. 

"You want me to fuck you?" He bit my ear and I collapsed inward, nodding furiously. "Say it." 

I tried, I really did, but he was licking my ear and the only thing coming from my lips were rapturous moans. 

"Say, please fuck me, sir."

"Please, sir," I managed before I dissolved again at the touch of his fingers to my asshole. When had he gotten down there? "Sir, please, fuck." 

"Good enough," he murmured, his face in my hipbone. He was everywhere, everywhere at once, his fingers soothing as his lips ignited. I had a break, just for a moment, while he stripped of his pants. Then he was back, biting and kissing and naked. He pulled my pants the rest of the way off and stopped for moment. I thought he was just waiting, just teasing, but the moment went too long. I lifted my head and found him staring at the handmarks from last night. They stood out starkly, green-yellow against my scarred skin. It was the first time I had seen him lessen since he'd started this crusade against Wicky, and it broke my heart. 

"Hey," I started. 

"Quiet." He leaned down and kissed each bruise once, so gently I could barely feel his lips. He rested his head against my inner thigh for a moment, his eyes closed, his face still. Then he took a deep breath and looked down at me. 

"How 'bout we try something a little different this time," he asked me huskily. 

"Whatever you want," I responded, quietly, careful of the emotion in his voice. 

"Whatever you want, sir," he snapped back, and my core shivered as parts of me gave to him yet again. 

He guided me through flipping over, put me on my knees and spread my legs. The jar of lube was right where he had left it the night before, and he grabbed it.

"Sir," I said breathily. He stopped, just about to press lube to my body. I wondered if he was worried. I wondered if he was annoyed. I didn't care; I needed this. If he was going to use me, I was going to take advantage to the fullest. "Sir, please tie me up." 

There was a moment, then he pressed his lubed fingers deep inside my ass and I cried out with pleasure, my hands becoming fists around the sheets on the bed. 

"Your wish," he told me, biting the divot just above my ass where my spine ended, making me almost collapse as mind-numbing waves of sensation rolled up my body, "is my command." 

He found rope and bound my hands and feet, kissing me all the while, enjoying himself, enjoying how long it took him. He knew I was dying for him. I begged him to hurry, but he would have none of it. He stopped between my two hands and took my chin in his fingers. 

"What's wrong?" he asked, smirk hiding behind his eyes, cock dangerously close to my face. 

"Fuck, sir, I need you," but I had only gotten halfway through my plea before he was gone. 

" _Fuck_ ," I called, and he bit my ankle in reply. 

By the time he returned to kneel behind me I was shaking with anticipation. He kept me waiting, playing with me with lubed fingers, enjoying my moans and curses. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore. "Please sir, I'm going to -"

"Don't you dare." He reached around and pinched off the base of my cock, leaving it throbbing and painful with suppressed need. 

" _Sir_ ," I begged, but he just kissed my lower back. 

"You can come when I'm inside of you." He gave me another kiss. "Maybe." 

At his words, I heard myself let loose a choked moan. His hand tightened around me as I did, and I knew I couldn't last much longer. "Hurry, sir, please," I begged. I felt him begin to rub the head of his cock against my hole, playing with me, keeping me just on the edge of where I wanted to be. I almost cried from it, might have cried actual tears. I was past the point of knowing what I was and was not doing, except what the Captain asked of me. 

"Ready?" he asked, and I must have nodded, or gave some other confirmation. I can't remember anything but the pleasure, but the next thing I knew he was inside of me. 

How things can turn from anguish to euphoria in an instant. I called out, and he pushed in again, and again, but never as deep as he could, always pulling out before he reached his limits. It was killing me, to still be denied. 

I had started out on my hands and knees, but soon collapsed onto my forearms as I shook from the thrill and bliss of it all. I felt myself collapsing even further, felt my face pressing into the bed. My hands wrapped around the ropes, feeling the rough cords under my palms as a tether to reality. I turned so that I could look at my Captain, so he could see what he was doing to me. "Please, sir," I asked him, "go deeper." 

He responded by slowing down, by torturing me by making me wait between each thrust. I cried out to him again, my words gravely and loose and shaken. I don't know how I made words at all, except that I needed to, that I needed him. "Please, oh god, sir."

"What?" he asked me. His voice was loose too, shaking loose from his core, but he held it better than I. "What do you want?"

"Sir," I panted. He pulled out and I gasped. As he pressed into me again, too slow, too deliberate, not at all as much as I needed, I told him what I wanted. And what I wanted was him, deep inside of me, as deep as he could go.

I must have used the right words, that time, because he reacted. He gathered up a handful of the shirt I was still wearing, pulling it against my body, pulling as he pressed. He pressed himself against me, still slow and deliberate, but this time he didn't stop. I heard myself make a sound, a half kind of a noise, still holding back, and as I did the Captain leaned down and whispered to me, "Scream."

And I did, curses pouring from my mouth unhindered. 

At the sound of my voice, he released his hand from the base of my cock. "Come," he commanded, stroking my incredibly sensitive shaft, and somehow the word reached my ears just as his hips pressed against mine and he was fully inside of me. 

It felt so much deeper this way, somehow, and I came instantly, almost collapsing flat on the bed from the force of it. I cried out, wordlessly, a torrent of sounds to match the release I felt streaming from my core. If not for his strong arms holding me up, somehow keeping my hips where he needed them, it all would have been over then. Instead, he was able to keep riding me, his hips keeping a motion that made me moan and shout, the aftershocks of the incredible orgasm he had given me pushing me past the point of knowing what came out of my mouth. 

I could feel him inside of me, and I called out to him, told him I wanted him, begged him for more, and he gave it all to me, everything I wanted in that moment. And in that moment, all I wanted was his cock thrusting deep within me. In that moment, all I wanted was to be here, before him on my hands and knees, and I couldn't begin to care what that meant. 

He was getting close, getting to where he needed to be, his hands tightening on my body, his rhythm growing faster, his answers to my pleas growing hoarser and more stunted. I could feel his desire in the way he gripped my hips and I responded, rocking back against him and calling for him, asking for more, always for more. 

Then, suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

It startled him, I think, and he slammed into me with more force than he'd intended. "Fuck," I screamed, but it was pleasure not pain. I turned my head into the bed. 

"Fuck _off_ ," he roared at the door. Then he reached down and lifted my head from the cushion by my hair. "Loud," he panted. "Come on, I need to hear you."

"People at the door."

" _Fuck 'em._ "

The knock came again.

" _Fuck off_ ," he repeated, managing to sound even more pissed. He increased his rhythm, his hand still on my hair, and I couldn't keep the sounds in my throat out of my mouth, didn't even know they were coming from me, just knew I didn't want him to stop, needed him not to stop. 

The person knocked a third time. 

" _FUCK_." The Captain shoved himself from my body, causing me to crumple to the bed in a stunned stupor. He strode to the door, ripping it open to reveal three very frightened sailors. "What?" 

They gaped at him, naked, shiny with lube and sweat and my cum, and the braver of the three peered around him and found me, tied naked on the bed, gasping for air and dazed. 

" _Talk_ ," the Captain demanded, and all three began to babble at once. He took a deep breath and held up his hand. There was silence. Then he pointed at the middle one. "You. Go." 

"Ship, merchant. Been chasing her for the last 15 minutes."

"And no one came to tell me when she was first sighted because..."

All three blanched. There was a long moment of silence. Then, the designated speaker swallowed. "You sounded busy," he whispered. 

The Captain slammed the door in their faces. He was very still for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Fuck me," he muttered. When he opened the door again, the men were all still standing there, wide eyed and shell shocked. "What kind of ship."

The man looked relieved to be on familiar territory. "Looks an Indiaman, Cap. British"

He ran a hand through his hair. "Prep the cannonware, 12 on the side we'll be approaching on and 7 on the other. Half salvos, and get the sails prepared. We'll make a pass and then come about."

The men nodded. One of them, the same one that had let his eyes wander to me, slowly dropped his eyes to the Captain's cock, still semi-hard even after the topical conversation. 

The Captain slammed the door in their faces again. 

"Fuck," he said. He pushed his hair from his face, gathering clothes and weapons. "Sounded busy." 

I moved to get up, but he pointed the sword that he had just acquired at me. "No. This is no place for you, and I'm not fucking done with you. You stay put. I'm finishing what I started when this is over." 

Tingles ran down my spine as I nodded, mute in the face of that proclamation. 

He rushed out the door, pulling his breeches on as he went. At the last moment, he turned around and pointed at me. "Stay!" he shouted. 

I waited all of a minute before I untied myself and ran out the door.


	3. The Loss of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ya some oral sexy times whoo whoo and then sadness

I rushed into the mess, knowing it would be empty but hoping Cookie would still be there. 

"No food until," he stopped and stared at me, naked from the waist down. "You should not be out like that." 

"Dressing would have taken too much time." I didn't have time. I didn't have anything, not self respect, not a soul, not anything. Endorphins were crashing down, leaving nothing to cover up the hole the Captain had ripped in my stomach earlier. I needed to do something, anything, to get myself back to normal, to return my body to the state it should be in. I should be strong. I should be everything. I should not be reduced to nothing by a man who I had only just met. 

On top of everything, I didn't understand why what had just happened was bothering me so much. Not bothering me; killing me. Ripping up bits of my soul like sails with rot, rather than the sturdy canvas I knew I should be. It was just casual sex, I told myself angrily. Nothing new to me. _I thought you were okay with being used_ , the Captain had said. I was, I really was. Hell, one time I had sailed a ship of gold into a siren's channel just to hear her song. She had held me for as long as her children counted the loot, then tried to kill me. 

She had tried to kill me, and it hadn't hurt as much as this did.

I tried to reign in my frustration. I was being unreasonable again. I had fun; I had more than fun. The Captain was incredible. I should be thankful, take the good where it could be found. It was a small miracle that he had even let me touch him again. 

Be thankful. I listened to myself think and felt the ocean rise within me. Anger leaked out of me like the sweat that glistened on my body. I had been weak, had allowed myself to become distracted from my goals, I had not stood for what I knew to be right. I remembered the Captain's words the night before and echoed them to myself now: _This doesn't feel good._

I leaned out the port hole in the kitchen. "What kind of ship is it?"

"You're naked."

" _Ship_ , Cookie."

Cooks always know the gossip. "Word is, Indiaman. British make, or maybe French, hard to tell these days, but flies a Brit flag. Tough buggers, but then - hey, what do you think you're doing?"

I was leaning out the window, most of my bulk outside the ship, anchored only by my knees and a few fingers as I tried to catch a glimpse of the ship we were chasing down. An Indiaman meant fast, but heavily armed. We were on a schooner, which meant faster, so we'd be there soon enough. But what would we do when we caught her? We didn't have half the weaponry the larger ship did, and with all probability what we had was for shit. 

I knew enough to guess what the captain meant to do, a maneuver called the twist. It involved spinning the boat around 180 degrees, faster than you really should, and hitting your opponent with a full side of cannon before they had time to react. I was well familiar with the move. Been on a boat or two that had pulled it successfully. Been on a boat or three that hadn't. I knew it was risky. 

I leaned out a little farther and caught my first sight of the ship. We were bearing down on the Indiaman fast, her Union Jack snapping in the wind. Fucking Brits, real pricks about not surrendering. I pulled myself back into the port hole. 

"Big guy," I told Cookie. "Probably 40 cannon. You guys usually chase that kind of stuff down?"

He nodded.

"It go okay?"

He bristled. "The crew knows what they're doing."

"Sure." I had my reservations about a crew led by the Captain at this junction. I leaned my head out the window again. "What's the ratio?"

"Ratio?"

"Yeah, Cookie, the kill ratio." I felt bad when he jumped at the snap in my voice. I didn't mean to be short with him. 

"Two of theirs for every one of ours. And we don't strike first." 

"Shit." This could take hours. And _We don't strike first_ , what was that kumbayah shit? These were Brits, for gods sake. Threatening to kill two of them for each pirate they killed wasn't going to do anything. 

I had a solution. It would make things go a lot smoother for both sides, save a lot of ammo. And it would probably bring the Captain back to me faster. 

I felt a shiver pass through me at that and hated myself. I was done with him. He didn't care for me, would use my body and reject my soul. I couldn't keep doing this to myself; I had seen what happened when captains tried to enter harbors that would have nothing to do with them. I would not rip myself apart on the shoals of his approach, just for some dream of fresh water. Or love.

I shut that thought down so quickly it was almost as if I had not thought it. Almost. 

So I would not do this to bring the Captain back. This, I would do for myself. A special treat to bring myself back to myself. I turned to Cookie. "Can you keep a secret?" 

He gave me a look. 

"You're going to have to. You got rope?"

"This is a ship. We have rope."

"Good." I grabbed the length he handed me and threw it from the window. I spooled it out until it drug in the water, then tied it off to the table bolted to the floor. 

"Do not," I told Cookie, "cut this for any reason. Understand?" 

Cookie nodded.

"Okay. I need knives."

"Not my knives," he moaned. "Couldn't you have gotten them from the Captain's room?"

I shrugged. I wasn't going to explain my frustration with the Captain to Cookie. "Pirates are funny about their knives."

"And cooks aren't?"

"You'll get them back." I didn't bother making any more arguments than that. Cookie knew my word was good. He groaned again but ended up handing over two of his sharpest blades. I wrapped up the larger one in cloth and twine, tying it to my waist. The smaller one I would hold between my teeth for easier access.

I stripped off my shirt, folding it on the kitchen table. Automatically I went to tie my hair back and found it too short, the thin wisps gracing my scalp nothing like what I was used to. I scowled. 

Cookie caught the motion. "It'll grow back."

"Yeah." I couldn't deal with that loss too, not right now. I leaned out the window again. We were almost on the Indiaman. I turned back to Cookie. "Remember -"

"Don't cut the rope, yeah." He looked at me. "You know what you're doing?"

I did. I finally had a plan and I was going to stick to this one. "Are you going to ask me that every couple hours?"

"If you keep acting like this. Absolutely."

I scowled deeper and leapt from the window. 

It hurts, to hit water from that height, but I'd had practice at making my body like a needle and I pierced the waves exactly how I needed to, slipping beneath the currents like the dolphins that often graced ships' bows. The cold water shocked me, washed me clean of the sweat and the haze that had invaded my space ever since I'd first seen the Captain on the deck of this strange ship. I stayed down as long as I could, letting my lungs burn, feeling the ache of oxygen leaving my body until I couldn't stand it anymore. When I came back up I was pleased to find I'd timed my jump exactly right and the Indiaman wasn't too far away. I slipped the small blade between my teeth and used my powerful arms to propel myself through the water toward the larger ship. 

I reached the anchor with relatively little trouble. The Indiamen were well built, had to give credit to her Majesty and her engineers, and it threw up less wake than I was used to. I clambered up the anchor and into the belly of the ship.

I knew that I would have to hurry to make it to the gun deck before the ships started trading blows. I stopped only long enough to grab what I needed from her kitchen.

Brits. Won't surrender to a pirate, but they're terrible superstitious. 

***

Aboard the pirate schooner, the men waited with bated breath for the first salvo of cannon fire as they drew closer and closer to the merchant ship. These battles were always long, and could be bloody, especially when they enacted their tax of two dead combatants for every pirate killed. 

"Ready," called their quartermaster. "Wait. Wait..." They needed to wait for the first provocation. It was part of their orders.

But the roar of the cannons never came. 

***

Up on deck, the Captain stood with his first mate. 

"Something's wrong."

"You should have been up here sooner," Wicky grumbled again. 

The Captain snapped his spyglass closed. "You only came up when I did, Wicky." He slowly turned his head and raised an eyebrow. "Enjoying the peaceful sounds of midday?"

Wicky turned bright red.

The Captain turned his attention back to the ship. "They should have attacked by now."

"I wasn't even listening," Wicky protested.

The Captain didn't respond.

"Made me afraid to leave my room, you did." 

But the Captain was focused on movement occurring on their quarry. "Look." He snapped his spyglass back open. "The sails are coming down."

"Coming what?"

"Down." He watched the movement of the crew in his spyglass. "I think they're surrendering?"

Wicky shook his head. "Cap, they're Brits."

"Aye." The frowning man looked out through his instrument. 

"And we've only been chasing them less than an hour."

"Aye, Wicky. But look." 

The two men watch the sails come down, slowing the ship to a pace which made their speed seem ridiculous. They would quickly pass them at this rate. 

The Captain snapped spyglass shut. There was no denying what was happening. "What made them decide to surrender now?"

Wicky swallowed. "Captain." 

"Do you think this is some sort of trick?" he murmured thoughtfully. "Should we be prepping for a boarding?"

" _Captain._ " The Captain gave him his attention, brows pulled tight. But Wicky was just pointing, a slight tremor creeping up his arm. 

The British flag had come down with the sails. Running up the mast in its place was a white flag, crude dark designs bleeding against the bright sky. 

"Is that," the Captain started, stopping just to stare.

But his first mate didn't need him to finish the sentence. "I think so."

The reverse skull and crossbones flapped across from them, black skull painted sloppily over a simply X. The Captain and first mate stared at it, shocked, as it peaked on the mast. 

" _Fuck_ ," the Captain said, and turned to give his orders to the crew. 

***

It was a much easier swim on the way back, the ships veering closer and closer with each passing moment. They'd already come about, turning the ship around with the twist's sharpness even though there'd been no real need. That was smart, I thought. It was always better to have more practice under your belt. That did mean, however, that I had to swim to the far side of the ship to get to the rope Cookie should be guarding. 

I found the rope right where I'd left it, thank all the gods the sea had ever birthed. I could have gotten into this ship the way I had the Indiaman, true, but my shirt was in the kitchen and my pants in the Captain's room. It was a long way to move from the anchor block to this part of the ship fully naked.

I hung from the rope and set my sights on Cookie's window. But I wasn't ready to head back to the ship yet; I needed to wash the adrenaline and blood from my body, become the person I was supposed to be. The sea felt good against my bare skin, and I wrapped myself in the rough threads and let the waves wash me clean of blood and the flour I had used to coat my body, scrubbing my hair in the swell and chop. I stayed until I felt clean, until the ocean's pull no longer felt like a judgement. 

Only when I was thoroughly scrubbed did I pull myself up the rope, hand over fist, and back through the window. Cookie looked up to my dripping face as I slithered over the metal frame.

"Kicked a hornet's nest, you did. Been people runnin' and shouting for the past twenty minutes."

I shrugged the ocean from my back and tried to readjust to confinement. Cookie handed me a towel and I scrubbed dry. I begged clean water from him to wash the worst of the taste of sea from my body, returned his knives, and began to make my way back to the bedroom, shirt in hand. I paused in the doorway and looked back the the pinched cook unwrapping his knife.

"Hey, Cookie?" He looked up. "Wash that before you use it."

"Aye, boy," he said, eyes big. "I know." 

***

I made it back to the Captain's suite without running into anyone, which was a bit of a miracle. Cookie was right; the ship was a hive of activity. I could hear people shouting, running above my heads with an intensity that made me frown. Were they always like this, or did they not realize the ship had already surrendered? 

Once I was back in the Captain's room, I grabbed up my breeches and pulled my shirt over my head. I saw no point in being cold, and it sounded like the Captain would be a while. I settled down in bed with one of his books. 

I was proud that I didn't even jump when the Captain burst through the door. He took me in, lazily sprawled on his bed, not where he had left me, and raised an eyebrow.

I had no time for his judgements, his assumptions I would listen to his words. "I got cold."

"I'll take this over you running amok." I was ready for him to come and try to control me again, in the way that he had. I had convinced myself that this was no different than the control that had been wielded over me by so many others, decided that his violence lay hidden somewhere under the surface. It lay in the daggers he dug into my soul when he laughed at my assumption that this could have been more; it lay in the way he smiled as he told me he would use me. I had been preparing myself ever since I had returned to his room to stand against his strange power, building walls to help me stay safe. So I was completely shocked when when ignored me completely and walked over to his swords. 

He tossed me a saber. "Know how to use this?"

"Hold here," I pointed at the hilt. "Pointy end."

He gave me a serious look. 

"Yes, I know how to use a sword. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Don't give me that." I got out of bed; he looked genuinely worried. "It's got to be serious if you're arming me."

"It'll be fine. Just stay here." He turned to go. 

Seeing he had no intention of explaining anything to me, I lunged for the door and managed to keep it shut. "No." My bulk moved to block his path and I heard him sigh. "Explain." 

"There might be an ambush. Nothing to worry about, just. The ship is acting strangely."

"Ours?"

"No, the other."

"Oh." I tilted my head. It shouldn't be. The men that had been left had very strict instructions, and I would hate to have to kill anyone else. "Strangely how?"

He made a bit of a face before the words left his mouth. "They surrendered." 

"Isn't that good?"

"It would be, but." I saw him hesitate, saw a moment pass before his eyes. I wanted to know that moment, to hold it, investigate, but it was gone before I could really get a glimpse. "There's a flag." He kissed me, and my body melted involuntarily into his. It was so perfect, the way he held me, and he caught me so by surprise that my defenses had not had time to be fully up. I was lost to him the moment he touched his hands to my hips, let alone his lips to mine. He took advantaged of my weakness and moved me aside. "I have to go; stay put, this is pirate's business." 

As he moved out the door, he stopped and looked at me, a moment of hesitation lost on my love-shocked form. I stood, still not recovered from the kiss, sword hanging loosely from my hand. He reached out and touched my wrist. 

I jumped.

"Be careful," he said, so softly I might have imagined it. Then he was gone. 

I put his words from my mind, along with the kiss. I couldn't handle it. He was a distraction. I had washed him from my soul in the sea. 

But what had he said? A flag? I moved to the window and looked out. We were pulling up beside the Indiaman. Snapping up on her mast was the reverse skull and crossbones. The one I'd put up.

It was a joke, really. A little calling card we'd always left when we'd taken ships like that. We'd called it our ghost flag, for our ghosted ships, but it didn't actually mean anything. It was just a skull, and an X, and shitty ones at that. I shouldn't have put it up, maybe, but it had felt so natural after the ease of everything else. Like riding a horse, except I didn't ride horses. Like coiling a rope. Like tying a knot. Do it enough times, you just have to complete all the steps. It was nothing to get worked up about, just an inside joke from a past time in my life. 

I suppose inside jokes are a lot less funny from the outside. And maybe I had gone a bit over the top.

Man, I thought a little sourly. They weren't going to be happy when they realized I'd painted it in blood. 

***

It was hours before the captain came back. He looked weary, exhausted by something that wasn't physical. I immediately put down the book, a treatsie on maritime law, and turned to sit on the edge of the bed. 

I had spent the last few hours practicing for this, preparing for his return. I knew, I knew the effect he had on me, knew that I was weak for him, and wasn't going to slip again. And yet, the moment he walked through that door, his shoulders hunched and those thick brows so furrowed they nearly touched, all thoughts fled my mind but concern for him. "You okay?"

He sat down at his desk and began writing furiously, filling a sheet of paper as I watched, then starting on another one. I watched him write harder and harder, until suddenly his nib broke, splashing ink everywhere.

"Fuck!" He threw the papers across the room. 

"Hey!" Not knowing what I was going to do when I got there, I found myself moving towards him through the rustling air. I knelt beside the morose figure slumped in his chair, drawn inexplicably by his pain. A moth to flame, my flamable wings in danger of being consumed. 

"What is going on?"

"Nothing. I told you, it's fine, it's fucking nothing."

"Yeah." I put my hand on his arm and he pulled away. How quickly I'd forgotten everything I'd thought to myself in the hours he'd been gone. How easy it felt, to comfort him. "Really seems like nothing to me."

"You wouldn't understand," he finally said.

That brought me right back. Nothing but a prisoner, he reminded me. The anger arose, but for some reason it only fed my attempts to console him. "Try me."

He scoffed. 

"I'm not a child." I took his hand. "And I can tell you're frightened by something." 

"I'm not." But he didn't move his hand away. 

I sat there silently, waiting on him. His hand tightened for a moment in mine, then relaxed. He sighed. "Did you see the flag?"

"Yes." I waited for him to say something else, but he just stared straight ahead. "What about it?" I prompted. 

I expected to hear something about ghosts, some superstitious nonsense I could laugh at to make him feel better, or maybe about how it was made of blood, but what I did not expect to hear was; 

"It's the banner of the King."

He said it so grimly, as if it were a death sentence. As if he had just proclaimed someone mortally wounded, their guts spilling over the operating table, and he was the one telling them they'd never make it back in.

"The king?" I tried to keep my voice light, tried not to squeeze his hand too tight. "Which king?" I knew which fucking king. I couldn't believe he'd done this, couldn't believe - 

"The Pirate King. The King of the Sea." He ran his free hand through his hair. "Never thought I'd see it this far south."

"The Pirate King." I repeated the words slowly, tasted them in my mouth. It tasted like blood, and salt water, and my soul leaving my lips as I choked on the two mixed. He'd never expected to see his flag this far south; I hadn't expected to hear that name. And now, twice in one day. Funny, I thought angrily, how fate works. "Cookie said you used to work under him."

"Not under, more with. He had a -" he shook his head. "It's complicated. Pirate business. You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," I repeated angrily. To hear him say he worked with the King, that struck something within me. It landed on top of my frustration, vibrated there and grew as he still wouldn't meet my gaze. I was frustrated with being left out of his 'pirate business', frustrated that he didn't think I could keep up. At being nothing but a prisoner to this man who was my entire world, despite everything I was doing to keep that from being so.

And I was _pissed_ to hear about the theft of my flag. 

"I think you'll find I understand more than you think," I continued, letting my frustration spill into my tone more than I probably should have. 

He looked at me then, that same funny look he'd been giving me all day. "Okay," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

But I didn't have time for this. "Pirate King. You worked under, with. Shouldn't you be happy to see his flag?"

"Ha." It was that same dry laugh, tangling in his thick hair as it tried to escape his lips. "I kinda pissed him off."

"How?"

"It's complicated."

" _Captain_."

"I know, I know." He pulled his arm over his eyes and smiled the ghost of smile. "I may have tried to overthrow him."

"You did _what_?" I could literally feel the shock rolling off my body. My first thought was relief, to find us on the same side so drastically of this man he called the King. I let that sit within me for all of a second before my second thought overwhelmed me, which was; _oh gods, no._ No, not you, killed the same way I was. Such a fate was unimaginable for anyone but my worst enemies, and here was this man, having come so close to sharing it with me. The thought shot hot fire of fear and anger through my very soul, made my blood rush to my ears and my fingertips tingle. I could not believe that he was alive, that I was here holding his hand. I squeezed his hand as gently as I could, given the circumstances.

"It's odd, though." He ignored my outburst. "All the survivors of the ship said the same thing, that it was a ghost. Naked white flesh, grey eyes, ghost, ghost, ghost. No Pirate King."

I was still staring at him, taking in this man before me. Fate, I thought. No. Irony. 

"What makes it even odder is, I know this ghost they're talking about. He was a legend in the north. More than a legend, he became this sort of. I don't know, symbol. He's supposed to mark his kills on his body, draws a line for each man killed in their blood." He drew his hand down over his eyes. "I don't know how they would know about him, really. Or why they would chose him, of all legends..."

But I was still stuck, needed to make sure I got this right. "You _mutinied against the Pirate King_?"

"And that's the other thing, there were survivors at all. Recently, if the King raises his flag, no man survives." He looked at me from under his fingers. "I thought you didn't know who the Pirate King was."

"I don't," I lied, "but. He's a king." I swallowed. "You should be dead." 

"Hence the concern of the flag."

I paused then, took in more of what he had said. "He kills entire ships?"

"Massacres." 

I felt a shiver of rage pass through my spine. The Captain put his hand on my shoulder, misunderstanding my shake. "Don't worry, he should still be far in the north. He doesn't often leave his empire. I think this was just." He shrugged. "I don't know, honestly. A ghost."

I pulled away from his hand. I didn't need his false comfort. "Ghosts don't exist," I said quietly.

If he noticed how I reacted to his touch, he didn't show it. "That ghost does. They said he did in the North, and it looks like now he's here. Because what he did to that ship, that happened. That's real. Twenty men dead, just like that. And you should have seen the dead, most killed where they were standing, one man had his jaw just." He stopped, shaking his head. I know, I wanted to tell him. I was there. You should have seen what they were trying to do to me. "I don't know, I don't know. Maybe it is the Pirate King, sea walking to come and get me."

I scoffed. As if the Pirate King could have done such a clean job of it. 

"They say he can." He actually sounded serious. "They say he's a son of the sea." Then, more quietly. "I've seen the things he can do."

I looked up and realized that he was scared, truly frightened. I covered his hand with my other, trying to push my knowledge into him without having to say a word. "He can't reach you here," I told him. Not while I'm here, I added in my head. 

He stayed tense for a moment, holding his convictions tight. Then he relaxed. "No," he sighed. "He can't, unless he's moved." He pulled his hand from mine and picked up his quill to began to sharpen a new nib. "I have letters to write, allies to check in with. I need to make sure he's still where I think he is. My friends help me make sure I never cross his path again."

"Good." I turned to gather up his papers for him, holding them carefully so they wouldn't smudge. He smiled as I handed them to him, and his smile undid me. It was the simplest of things. It always seemed to be with him, his hair, the way he moved his hand to pick up more ink, the way his lips curved to say thank you. The tightness of his pants. The drop of his stupid shirt. 

I wasn't done with him. I knew it then, watching him sit there. I couldn't be done with him, not the way he sat in my chest and pulled at my very soul. It would rip me apart if I walked away like this, if I enacted the walls I had been drilling into my body these last few hours. How could it not? I had nothing to hold onto, nothing of my own left. 

My heart had been stolen by the man who sat before me. My life had been stolen by a man thousands of miles away, unreachable now. My name was stolen by the sea. And my flag was stolen by the fucking pirate king. I wanted something of my own. Needed it. Even if it was just a moment, even if it couldn't mean anything. He'd had his moment for him; I needed to have mine for me. 

Then, maybe, I could be free of him. 

I moved to the door and locked it.

He frowned. "What are you doing?"

"You promised," I reminded him as I walked back towards the desk, my eyes taking in the man that had become my world, that I had decided to let be my world because without a world what is the point of living? I would rather have a world and live without, I realized, than never find such a place to belong at all. I thought all of that as I approached him, knowing this would be my last chance at entering his gravity. "You promised that we would finish what we had started."

"I did," he agreed, a frown flashing behind his eyes. He could tell something was different. 

"And I've been waiting." For hours, I thought. For years. For my entire life. I've been waiting for you for millennia, and this will be my moment.

"Have you, now." He moved to get up, but I put my hand on his chest and pushed him back into his chair. Not this time, I thought. Not the bed. The bed was his, he had made that very clear. I would have him right here. Besides, there was something I wanted to try, had been thinking about trying ever since he'd brought me to his room that first night. His brows slowly unknitted as I kissed him, deep, but they were quick to draw back together as I dropped to my knees in front of him.

"Hey." He captured my chin in his hand. "You don't need to -"

"Shut up," I told him, my mouth chasing his thumb. His eyes widened slightly and he let me catch it, and I slipped it over my tongue and grinned as he gasped. I felt his other hand creep into my hair, entwining with strands and pulling my eyes to his. 

"Okay," he agreed softly. I smiled around his thumb and began to work on his breeches. There was no pretending through the thin fabric that he wasn't enjoying was happening, and as I brushed my hand against the growing mound his hips jerked. 

I reached into his trousers and found my prize, pulled it into the light of day. We gasped together, the Captain and I, he at my touch, and I at being so close to something so fucking perfect, so unmistakably erotic.

I'd been close to penises before, but never like this. Never one like this, so incredible and tempting. I imagined I could smell it, or maybe I could, a heady aroma that sent my head reeling and my mouth actually watering. I wanted him, needed him in a way I had never experienced before; it overwhelmed me, consumed me, and I knew the only way I could exorcise this demon that had been destroying my soul was by giving the Captain what he wanted, the way I wanted. 

I carefully reached out and touched the head of his cock, and he shuddered, an entire body reaction to the gentlest of stimuli. I ran my finger along the length, base to tip, and watched his body shake, felt his hand tighten in my hair and my stomach tingled, my own cock hard and throbbing. It felt incredible to touch him, to let myself explore his body in even this most minor of ways.

I waited until he had calmed down. "I've never done this before," I warned him. I didn't want him to get his hopes up; Cookie had said he'd been with many whores, and I knew they were trained in how to do this. 

"You don't have to do anything you don't -," he started, but I wanted to do this, and he wanted me to do this, and so I leaned down and put my mouth around his cock.

He gasped, his hand tightening around my hair. He tasted so good, the head of his cock warm and throbbing in my mouth. I never wanted to lift my head. I could feel the way his body reacted to me through his hand in his hair and the twitching inside my mouth. This, I thought, was where I could begin to control him truly. This was where he was mine. I experimented, moving deeper, then lifting and licking around the tip, trying to see what would get the strongest reaction. He cursed as I flicked my tongue at the base of the head, sliding my tongue under the lip that I found there, then gasped as I took him further in my mouth. 

I traced circles around the tip of his cock, watching his whole body twitch, and loved it even as I knew he wanted more. Wanted control. I could feel his hand on my head all the while, felt him want to press and pull with my motions. I wanted that too, but not yet. I teased him for a minute longer, finding the crease at the very tip of his cock and licking along the length of it to see what that would do. He moaned and jerked beneath me, and I did it again and again until I got distracted by the other parts of him, the other sounds he made. I explored him, lightly, at my pace, and was somewhat surprised to find that he let me do it. 

When I was ready, I lifted my head and met his eyes. They were half closed, his lips parted, and I couldn't help but smile to see the effect I had had on this man. 

"Sir," I said. I was ready to give him what he really wanted. What I had been hoping he would take. "Guide me."

I saw him swallow, watched his breathing increase in tempo. He put his hand back on my chin and I felt his hand shake. 

"Okay." He ran his fingers over my lips, watched shuddering as I tried to catch them with my tongue. "But you need to tell me if I'm too much."

"I will," I promised him. "But you won't be." 

"Open your mouth." He gripped my head tighter, spreading his fingers across my head to give him control. He positioned me just above his cock. From this height, it looked massive, intimidating, but I trusted him. I opened my mouth and let him guide me down. 

He gasped as my tongue touched the head of his cock, then my mouth, sliding down as his hand pressed gently. I was concerned I couldn't take all of him, knew that I couldn't, but he stopped me before I got anywhere near uncomfortable, brought me back to the tip. Again and again he guided my head down, then up, his hand on my head firm and tender. 

With his other hand he brought my fingers to the base of his cock, placing them around the shaft. I pulled my hand from his, setting my own rhythm, slow and steady and deliberate. Somewhere above me I heard the Captain curse. He allowed the rhythm of my head to match the one I set with my hand.

I took him like I needed to, because I did. It was a single minded action that drove me, a demand that existed in my being without him having to give it. I felt myself speeding up, pulling against his hand, wanting his cock deeper against my throat, needing more of him inside my body. He moaned, his hips moving against me. I almost gagged as he thrust inside my mouth, and it made me want him more, made me need even more of him, but his hand pulled me back and denied me. 

He didn't mean anything by it, in fact probably meant kindness, but it was frustrating. 

I increased my pace and I heard him say something, but I wasn't listening. My entire world was his cock, his hand, my mouth and tongue, the way those things came together to make a blossom of pleasure and perfect harmony of bliss. The pressure he kept on my head didn't allow me to test myself, to see how much of him I could truly take, and I resigned myself to this, instead forcing him to increase the pace of my head by speeding up my hands, relishing how my fingers glided over his slick cock, tightening and loosening my grip as he moaned above me. 

He shouted something, pulling my head from my rhythm. I kept stroking him, didn't want to let him stop me completely, but he slapped my hand away. I knelt there between his legs, staring up at the Captain. His chest was moving quickly, his head thrown back and his eyes closed. So he wouldn't see, I thought, if I just...

I leaned forward against his hand. He felt me and tightened his grasp, but at the end of my tether I was just close enough to reach his cock with my tongue. I opened my mouth and reached out, scraping the tip of his cock with the tip of my tongue.

He cursed and ripped my head back. I saw stars, the suddenness of the pain and control in my scalp breathtaking, and the noise I made was nothing like anything I had ever voiced before, small and sensual and filled with desire. The Captain's body reacted to it, his arm tensing and his hand jerking upwards, and because I was attached to the Captain's hand I was jerked upwards as well. I found myself lifted just off my knees, my head tilted up to meet the Captain's eyes. 

He stayed like that for a moment, his eyes pumping waves of anticipation and pleasure through my core. They were ragged, unfocused in their desire, staring down at me with an intensity that wasn't directed but instead showered me with lust. I returned his look, knowing he was in control again, understanding he would have his way with me if he wanted. I wanted him to, I begged him with my eyes to take me. My head began to ache from the pressure his fingers exerted on my hair follicles, and I let slip a small noise with my breath. 

He immediately tightened his grip against me, pulling my head back at an awkward angle. I loved being held by him, loved letting him move me in this way, and I felt my breath come hard and fast His other hand made its way to my chin, then slipped over my lips. I drew them into my mouth with my tongue, never letting go of his eyes with mine. 

Breath hissed from his lips in a string of curses, leaving his chest, his body, the muscles unwinding as he lowered me back down. His fingers hooked into my mouth and drew me forward towards him, leaving my mouth only when I reached his cock. 

He didn't wait for me to open my mouth, just pushed me onto the erect form waiting and I was glad. I tried to return my hand to the base, but he grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm behind my back, pinning it there. I jumped at the sudden escalation, but he shoved my head back down, making me maintain the rhythm that he had chosen for me without the meddling interference of my hand. I knew what was expected of me and kept my other hand far away. 

The pace he chose was rougher, faster, but I loved it. Craved more. Warm waves were crashing against me from the pit of my stomach, driving me to do whatever it was that he wanted. Whatever he did, it wasn't enough. Even in this state, he didn't drive my head down as far as I wanted, didn't let me take as much as him as I desired. I wanted him. All of him. 

His hand was pressing against my scalp, his cock was in my mouth, and I was where I wanted to be. When he yanked me up again suddenly, I wasn't going to be denied. I slipped my free hand up from where it had been resting and continued the rhythm hoping he would let me go back down. 

But it was not to be. I was done with the Captain, because he was coming. I felt his entire body seize under my hand, his hips bucking up and his back arching. The hand on my head jerked back, pulling at my scalp with a gratifying intensity. My mouth fell open unbidden just as thick warm cum splashed across my face and neck, landing partially on my exposed tongue. 

I took a moment to enjoy what had just occurred, to enjoy the taste of the Captain in my mouth, the commanding tug of his fingers laced through my hair, forcing my head to remain in place. Then I looked up to him. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back. He looked so peaceful that I almost let him be, but I wanted him to look at me. I wanted him to see what he'd created, the beauty he'd spread across my being. I pursed my lips and gently blew air over his cock.

He jerked, his entire body convulsing in on itself. I looked up at the face that now looked down at me, wide eyes taking in my craning neck, my body twisted to accommodate the hand he had trapped behind my back and the pressure from the hand he still had buried deep within my hair. His eyes traveled then to my open mouth, ending on the splashes of cum that ran from my lips over my chin, down my neck. 

"Shit," he said, releasing me quickly and drawing his hands up, palms out, as if he were surrendering. "Holy fuck, I'm so sorry. I was trying not to -"

He shut up as I wiped a bit of cum from my face with my finger and licked it up, smiling. 

"Fuck," he breathed, staring down at my decorated face. "Who are you." I licked his stomach and he shuddered. 

"Yours," I reminded him. I stood up, kissing him on the way. He kissed me back, soft and confused and so sweet I almost believed he cared. But I had heard him earlier that day. I had to keep my plan, I told my endorphins and my racing heart. He told me who I could be with; now it was my turn. "But this is the last time I will ever let you touch me." 

He pulled back. "What?"

"I'll be with Cookie if you need me."

"Wait! Fuck, your face!"

But I had already unlocked the door and was moving down the hall.

***

The door swung shut, leaving only the Captain in his quarters. He sat there alone, silent, staring at the space the man had just occupied for some time. His face was drawn together, stitches all pulled too tight in all the wrong places, his pants undone and limp dick hanging out. 

Suddenly, the man pulled his hands to his head. " _Fuck_ ," he shouted. He drew his hair back, still staring at the door, as if willing it to open. The expression on his face was slowly changing from one of confusion to one of pain, the brows that were drawn together slowly drawing up, the lips that had been pursed dropping open in a gasp, only the smallest of breaths able to escape past. 

The door remained steadfastly shut.

"Fuck," he whispered. He folded in half on the chair. Perhaps he was borne down by the weight of something; perhaps he simply could no longer bear the sight of that wooden door, closed to him forever. He stayed that way for a very long time, silent except for his shattered breaths.


End file.
